Amazon Origins

By R. H. Kent

In the dark recess of history, women were considered property of first their father and then their husband, an established tradition for hundreds of years. Just what would have to happen for one woman to decide that enough was enough? And on her journey through life as she gathered like-minded women with her, how did they manage to become the legendary Amazons in a time when men ruled the world?...
Reading this book; you dont just observe the story, you experience it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481785600

R. H. Kent

At some point as a child living in London, England, key historic figures such as Briton’s Boudicca and France’s Joan of Arc would be read in school, some with more interest than others. However, the author was fascinated by these strong unique women and continued to read further into strong women as far back as ancient Egypt’s Hatshepsut and Cleopatra, to England’s Queen Elizabeth I. During her reading, she came across the famous Amazons, a group of warrior women whose name is a derivative from Greek mythology, but allegedly the women came from what is now modern-day Turkey, who refused to kowtow to the supremacy of men and were both admired and vilified for their defiance, inspiring a lifelong interest in these legendary women. There is no genesis for the origins of the Amazons, but while volunteering in a women’s center near where she lived and training to become a mental health nurse, the author began to meet women and see how life experiences can shape them and change them forever, whether for better or worse, depending on that woman, and this inspired the author to wonder just what would give enough cause for a group of women to abscond from the life that had been laid out for them and become the legendary Amazons we know so little about today. Incorporating life experiences and her knowledge about cognition and behaviors, which are both innate and learned through life experiences.

Book preview

Prologue

In the waning light of a warm evening, two voices arguing could be heard carrying through the still air, the deep rumbling growl of an angry man and the high-pitched screams of a pleading woman. Across the courtyard of the villa a two summers old child sat on the stone floor of the nursery while her scandalized nurse pressed her ear up against the shutters of the window listening with baited breath to the argument between the master and his wife.

Four children, I have given you four children I am your wife and I can give you more… The woman’s voice was desperate and pleading but the man’s voice, her husband’s voice was resentful and remorseless.

No. You have given me four daughters, four worthless and expensive daughters. I need sons and you, woman, have not given me sons, what good wife would give her husband daughters when he only wanted sons to inherit his name and his business?

I will give you sons we just have to be patient and pray to the gods that they bless us soon.

No. You cannot carry any more children. The last three pregnancies didn’t even go full term. You can no longer give birth to live children and what good is a dead son to me? The man was incensed with rage; a wife’s duty was to provide a male heir, the more the better. Daughters were a costly addition to any family. An intelligent man may be able to marry his daughter up into a wealthier or political family, which would give him an advantage to advance himself and his sons. But to do that, the man had to hope that his daughter would grow up to be pretty, because a plain or ugly daughter would be expensive to endower to ensure another family took the responsibility of care out of his hands and his coffers. As the prying nurse listened she could hear the sobs wracking her mistress’ body and imagined the tears that would be running down her grimacing face, making her look older and more ugly than what was good for her. All the servants knew that the master’s eye had been wondering over other younger, prettier women who had been to visit the villa over the past few months. His desire for a male heir had him driven to consider the costly venture of putting aside his current wife and marrying a younger woman who could give him what he wanted. The master being a stingy man to the servants, showed how desperate he was for a boy child that he would spend so much money to acquire a legitimate new wife and there was gossip that he may already have his eye on a particular young girl. The mistress began trying to reason with her husband.

But your daughters, they married well, you gained from their marriages to the other families, and Ama will make another good marriage when she is old enough. The nurse glanced back at the child sitting on the floor. Her face trusting and uncomprehending of the argument between her parents, an argument that sounded as if she would become a bastard child or stepchild to a new mistress, a new wife very soon.

Your daughters, he corrected, were plain and ugly as you are now. I did not benefit from their marriages; it was those families who benefit from marrying into mine! I am the master trader in this city, I am the richest, the most sought after, what possible advantage could those lesser families bring to me. We are not noble so they could not marry up and what noble would wed an ugly bride, why would Ama be any different from the older three? She will be just as ugly and as expensive to convince some other man that she should be a wife to his son, and I still have no son of my own! You are done woman, you must leave my property tomorrow morning with your own belongings, not what I have given you. His tone was final, the anger and resentment gone, just the sharp tone of the end of nearly twenty-two years of marriage. The woman’s sobs could still be heard but they were pitiful, quiet, defeated.

Ama, give me Ama, I will take her away with me. The silence that followed the request seemed even louder to the nurse than the argument did, but the master’s voice seemed to boom with conviction as he finally ruined the woman who had been his wife for over two decades.

Ama will stay here. She is my daughter, and you are no longer my wife and you shall not have what belongs to me. When she is older she may be the lucky daughter and have the looks you used to have before they withered and died with age. The nurse gasped at this final insult to her mistress, her former mistress she corrected in her head. Footsteps slapped across the stone floors, somebody had left the argument, and she guessed it was her master. She turned once more to the child she was hired to care for and studied her features. While only two she still had the baby chubbiness in her cheeks and plump body, but the nurse could see some of the resemblance to her mother, her skin was smooth and warm with no imperfections, a pink well sculpted mouth which was parted slightly as the child watched her nurse with her golden eyes, a rare feature in the people who typically had brown eyes and dark hair. Already it looked like the baby’s hair might turn to a light auburn colour, matching her golden eyes. ‘Yes’ the nurse agreed, ‘there is potential in you to be pretty and that would be an advantage for your master and me if you married up, I might be able to go with you’ she thought excitedly, imagining life of an upper class or noble’s servant instead of a rich merchant’s servant. As the nurse dreamed of a future when she was a servant to a noble lady she picked up the child from off the stone floor and put her into her cot and tucking her in firmly before arranging the small pallet and blanket she was given to sleep on while watching over the master’s youngest daughter. She fell asleep quickly, knowing she would have to wake before dawn to start the housework and breakfast and to gossip with the other servants before master awoke, about the argument she overheard tonight. Soft snores broke the silence of the night, but little baby Ama was not sleeping. Too young to comprehend how her life had just changed in one night, she lay there trying to move, trying to reach out for something familiar, something she could hold on to. Someone to love her.

Chapter one

Ten years pass

AMA, AMA… Sessi where is Ama? Ama could hear her stepmother Ida shouting inside her rooms and Sessi’s, her nurse’s, response.

A servant has been sent to search for her mistress, she will be ready in time for Jentin’s visit.

She better be Ida threatened, because if she isn’t and if she does not look ready to wife then its you who will suffer for another failure! Angry footsteps slapping across the stone floors echoed on the walls and slowly disappeared. Ama sighed at the thought of another ordeal at the hands of her parents as she was paraded like a red-brown cow in front of her father’s friends and colleagues trying to find a man for her to marry. Ama had no desire or interest to marry, and her nurse Sessi had no desire to see her marry her father’s colleagues and friends either. While her father was a wealthy successful merchant and her three older sisters had made marriages into other merchant families, none of the families were as successful as her fathers trade and Sessi was not satisfied with this prospect for her charges future. With reluctance, Ama appeared around the corner and entered her rooms to Sessi’s obvious relief and immediately was guided to a large bowl filled with what might have once been warm water. Sessi began pulling off Ama’s cotton dress and throwing linen into the bowl to soak up the water saying,

Lets get you clean and presentable, not too pretty, you don’t want to marry Jentin’s son, they are cattle traders after all, think of the smell! Sessi’s nose wrinkled in disgust while Ama rolled her eyes at her analogy of being paraded like a cow in front of Jentin was actually accurate. Sessi pulled a soaking linen from the bowl and crushed cinnamon and rosemary into the thick material while Ama stood naked and shivering in the corner of her room furthest from the window and doors and the draft that would be swirling over her exposed skin, the linen was cold and made Ama jump with shock but Sessi just gave an impatient snort.

It would have been warm if you were here when I first sent for you, and began rubbing Ama’s skin in soft circular motions releasing the scent of the herbs and spices into the air and lingering on her soft skin. Sessi continued to mutter as she worked,

Jentin is no good, they have to be patient, just wait a few more years, only twelve, some girls bloom late, she will bloom and she will be stunning… can do much better than Jentin and the rest of the trade… Ama was not naive enough to believe that Sessi’s insistence she could do better than a marriage to a traders son was anything to do with actual affection, it was clear that Sessi believed she should be a servant to a wealthier family and was convinced that Ama would be her path to the career she craved by marrying an upper-class son, but there was no chance of that now. As Sessi worked on cleaning and perfuming Ama’s body she looked down at herself; tall for her age and slender she was flat and straight from head to toe. Her breasts had not developed and her hips were narrow. Her skin was also much paler than everyone else’s’ in the villa. She had been told once that she had her mother’s looks and colouring and it made her unusual and unique. Ama’s mother, Mussa, had not be seen or heard from since she was banished from the house ten years ago and nobody wanted to talk about her for fear of reprisal by the Master and his new wife who deeply resented Ama and her mother’s good looks. Her father’s marriage to her stepmother had been yet another scandal to shake up the neighbours after the shocking exit of her mother. It took Ama years to learn the full story and she thought about it every time her father told her to get ready for a new proposal…

After Mussa was banished from the house and left at the rising of the sun never to be seen or heard from again, her father, Porto, had gone to the local priests to inform them of his wife’s abandonment and claim his divorce. The priests eyeing Porto’s heavy purse dangling in one hand were quick to sign the parchment allowing the divorce and declaring Porto a single man again to take a new wife before the ink had even dried. The town’s people gossiped and speculated about whom Porto would take to wife and so it was scandalous news indeed when Porto announced his new wife to be Ida who was known throughout the town as a disgraced woman. Not married, but recently birthed a son, Ida had been disowned by her family as a disloyal and worthless daughter who would not be able to make a respectable marriage to another family when she had proved herself to be a wanton woman who would consort with a man who was not her husband. But that was not Porto’s concern, he wanted a son, and Ida was a pretty young mother with a baby boy at her breasts. Nothing could have been more attractive to Porto and Ida could not believe her good fortune at the prospect of marrying a man like Porto when she had been left with nothing, no husband, no family and no future at the hands of her own kin. The wedding was a quick and quiet affair, Ida’s first son, Idin, was adopted by Porto as his ‘nephew’ which meant that Porto’s own sons would inherit before Ida’s son, but if Porto had no sons with Ida, he could use her first son to inherit his businesses and home. It was a marriage that suited both people and feelings were not part of the process but the local town’s people used to discuss the topic regularly in the taverns over their beer and wine well into the night. Ida birthed Porto two healthy sons, Portus and Pollo and Portus was the ‘heir’ to Porto’s legacy. He was born nine months after the wedding leading many town’s people to gossip that Portus may not be Porto’s son or that if he was, he was conceived before they officially wed, this was ‘typical’ behavior of a wanton woman and many people believed at least one of the rumors to be true, although they whispered behind their hands at the family, nobody dared to mention this to Porto outright, a wealthy, hard man, he would not suffer slurs lightly and it was clear to everyone he doted overly on his pretty young wife who had given him his greatest wish, the one thing Ama’s mother had been unable to do and was why she had been banished from this villa in disgrace and left Ama all alone too young to even remember her mother’s face, and unanswered questions about what would happen to Ama if she was held accountable for outcomes outside of her control which, being a woman, was most things…

Ow! Ama jumped and rubbed at her side where Sessi had roughly poked her.

Well if you weren’t standing around daydreaming I wouldn’t have to poke you to get you to move, now hurry up, I have to brush your hair and dress you. Sessi scolded, there was none of the deference or respect a servant should have when talking to their master or their master’s children. When Sessi spoke to Ama, she was also supposed to address Ama as ‘young mistress’ just like her step-mother was referred to as mistress, but the title seemed to be forgotten when Sessi spoke to Ama, in fact none of the servants spoke to Ama or called her young mistress unless her father was in the room or in front of company. Ama didn’t mind this slight like her parents would have; she moved towards her pallet and was rubbed down with dry linen thinking if she would be treated differently if she insisted the servants use her title when speaking to her. It wasn’t like they were unkind, it was more comfortable than that, there was no fear in the servants; they weren’t scared Ama would get rid of them for dropping a new dress on the floor or speaking out of turn, Ama was harmless, and was generally left alone to do as she wished so long as she didn’t draw attention to herself. This is what Ama spent most of her time doing, walking around the villa doing her best to be invisible to everyone, and this was exactly what she wished she could be now, invisible.

Come on, come on, your dry now, green dress I think, it’s the newest one you have. Sessi marched across to the chest where Ama’s clothes were kept and rifled through until she pulled out the soft green shift dress that her father had brought home for her a few months ago.

It brings out the gold in your eyes and compliments your hair so well, sighed Sessi with longing. Once the dress was on, Sessi tied a dark green sash around Ama’s waist and scrutinized her slender shapeless frame, I did my best. Ama wasn’t sure who Sessi was trying to convince with that but shrugged it away and turned to sit on a nearby stool so that her hair could be brushed. Her hair was Ama’s favorite feature. It was thick, long and glossy and was a rich dark red with flecks of gold which resembles the dark red colour of her fathers best wine and shimmered in the light and brought out the gold in her eyes, but it was these features that seemed to upset both her father and step-mother for she looked too much like her mother to give either of them the peace of mind.

Hurried footsteps could be heard pattering down the hall of a servant coming to summon the youngest daughter of Porto to the reception room to meet the father of a potential husband. With a long sigh Ama rose from her stool ignoring Sessi’s last minute tugging and adjustments to her hair and dress and went to the doorway just as the servant was coming in nearly knocking Ama over.

Be more careful! Sessi snapped at the servant, a young boy named Tollus who pleaded for forgiveness in petrified mumbles and begged Ama to follow him to the reception room where her family and guests were waiting. Ama nodded and followed him out, her hands clasped in front of her, head down with small quick footsteps, the very picture of demure to anyone watching, although this was the last thing Ama was, she just understood that by posing in this manner she could escape attention and if someone was observing her, it would be impossible for anyone to find fault with such ladylike behavior. As she entered the reception room past a bowing Tollus, Ama walked quietly over to where her father was waiting and stood to the side and just behind him, not even daring to look at the merchant Jentin who was sitting opposite her on the best chair next to Ida and Portus who was squirming in Ida’s tight grasp for at nine years old, he had little patience for such things as this.

Ah, Ama, Porto said grandly, this is Master Jentin and he has come this afternoon especially to see you. Porto beamed and pointed his hand at Jentin as if to indicate to Ama, who kept her head down, where Master Jentin could be found. She did not move, but just said,

Yes father. When it was clear Ama wasn’t going to move anywhere the merchant Jentin heaved himself up off the chair and walked over to take a look for himself as Porto moved back to allow him room to inspect further, ‘just like in the cattle market she thought’ although thankfully, it didn’t smell like Jentin had been anywhere near a cattle market today. He walked around her slowly, scrutinizing her body so hard Ama could feel herself blushing, her heart beginning to pound in her chest and forcing the blood into her face and around her ears. She could feel his gaze lingering over the green dress as if searching for imperfections which was making an already self conscious and nervous Ama feel more and more unsettled, her palms already clammy with sweat stayed tightly grasped in front of her. Finally Jentin put his hand under Ama’s chin to lift her face up to his, the colour drained from her face immediately with fear at his touch and she felt as if her heart would burst through her chest it hammered so hard. Jentin kept a firm grip, staring into her golden eyes before sighing and finally dropping her chin as Ama returned to gazing at the floor waiting for her heart to return to a less frenzied state and did her best to keep her breathing under control and quiet, imagining everyone in the room could see her trembling with fear and embarrassment at Jentin’s inspection.

You may have a pretty daughter Porto, but she looks more to me like a pretty boy. Jentin turned to face Porto who was spluttering at the insult. Ama kept her head down as shame burned through her body but Jentin was not finished yet,

She has the body of a young boy, what son of any man would wed her. She has pretty eyes and Min know her hair looks like sunset but she is too small, summon me when she has hips to bear sons and the breasts to feed them, otherwise call on me no more. Jentin turned and swept out of the room followed by Porto trying to convince Jentin that a promise of marriage in the future when Ama had grown could be profitable but Jentin was too far gone out the villa for Ama to hear a response, she doubted her father would have such luck as that. While she waited for her father to return, Ama remained standing on the same spot since she had entered the room feeling her stepmother’s eyes bore into her as she fought to prevent the tears of hurt and embarrassment falling down her cheeks knowing that her ordeal was far from over as she listened to the loud complaints of Portus now that he had been released. Ida was almost Ama’s opposite in appearances, short, her features small and sharp with darker skin and hair and eyes as black as night which always seemed to gleam with malice and spite.

Another good husband put off by your ugliness child, how old will you be before we finally are able to get rid of you? Ama said nothing but kept her head down feeling the remarks deeply in her knotted stomach, she couldn’t help the way she looked but it seemed as if everyone was going to blame her anyway, ‘just like my mother’ she thought. Porto could be heard outside panting as he made his way back into the reception chamber to meet his wife and children.

No good, no good he mumbled, how much longer will you take? he glared at Ama as if waiting for an answer as to when her body would begin to take a woman’s form but Ama did not know and did not answer. Porto glared at her as if wondering the same thing while Ida suggested increasing the dowry Porto was offering.

With what? he demanded, shall I add your precious jewelry to her dowry for we have no other free money or goods to provide, Ida sucked in her breath sharply, her hands instinctively going to her neck where her favorite gold collar, an item of jewelry given to a woman when she got married and could only be worn by married women, which rested against her skin.

Didn’t think so, he snorted. We will have to wait a little while longer, cant be long now ’til she develops, if she keeps her prettiness we may be able to keep more of her dowry once she is more attractive! He beamed at this prospect, I mean she’s a perfectly trained wife, she is quiet and does as she is told, you did well my love to teach her so. It was a testament to Ama’s self control that she did not splutter and choke at her father’s compliment to Ida that she had trained Ama in her good behavior, Ida never spoke or even looked to Ama unless she wanted something or a potential husband was available to impress. Ida eyed Ama knowing this, saying nothing at first before getting up and walking over to Porto and whispering in his ear. He chuckled and dismissed Ama with a wave of his hand, she quietly left the room but instead of going back to her room where Sessi was likely to be waiting to interrogate Ama about what had happened, Ama chose instead to sit in the next room, which happened to be the dining room. The feeling of failure and shame from another rejection from a man who had decided based on Ama’s appearance alone that she was not ready to wife burned her. Even though she didn’t want to marry, rejection in whatever form was hard for anyone to bear. Ama knew she was not ready to be a wife, but she didn’t need her reflection to inform her of that decision, she knew because she did not know how to be a man’s wife, she could not cook or clean, with servants in the villa she never had to. She keenly felt the failure of her mother to provide a son and feared the same fate her mother suffered if she was not blessed like Ida, ‘but how?’ Ama thought, ‘how can anyone know man or woman whether a child before its birth is a boy or a girl. If women could choose the gender of their baby before birth then all births would be to baby boys, and then where would we be? With no baby girls for the baby boys to grow up with and wed then what would happen?’ Without a mother or significant female figure in Ama’s life thus far, it had not been explained to Ama just how much of an impact her thinking would have if her fantasy came true. While she thought deeply about her future Ama reached out and began to gently finger the small harp, which was used to provide music while the family ate. It was a quaint little instrument and Ama loved the sound of it, gently strumming the cords with her fingers, the notes soothed and relaxed her mind as thoughts of failure and rejection were slowly replaced by soft music, to anyone looking it appeared she was practicing, but in reality, Ama was listening. Now she had calmed down, she wanted to know what it was that Ida had said to Porto that she didn’t want Ama hearing, her musing dismissed as out of her control and not worth worrying about. It wasn’t long before Ida’s secret request was revealed, the unmistakable sound of a reed pen on coarse parchment and the sound of Portus repeating symbols in a low voice. As heir, Portus needed to be able to read and write and Porto was the one to teach him as the only literate person in the whole villa complex. Ida was anxious that Portus be taught as soon as possible, where as Porto had been content to wait until Portus was older, but like with most things, Porto gave in to his wife very easily and it was not long before everyone knew Portus was having lessons. Ama yearned for the ability to read and write. As a youngster, she had watched her father’s merchandise come into and out of the villa with curious symbols on tags or covering barrels. With a child’s curiosity she had asked her father what the symbols were.

Writing, he said, so I know what everything is and what quantity. It’s the difference between being a good businessman and a bad businessman, he chuckled, those who can’t read and write can be swindled for a fortune and they would never know that you took them for a fool! he laughed out loud at his own remark, but to stop other merchants doing the same to me or my sons I can read and write and when your brothers are old enough I will teach them too. Still young and unfamiliar with women’s roles in this world Ama had asked her father,

Can you teach me too?

Of course not! He snapped, his good humour suddenly gone and replaced with anger. Only men learn to read and write, it is not a skill for a girl. Ama had fled his anger then, but the desire to understand these strange symbols never left her and so whenever she could Ama would try to learn herself by watching and listening whenever Porto was trying to teach Portus and by observing the loading and unloading of merchandise. By looking at and recognizing a combination of symbols and listening or sometimes looking to see what the symbols were attached too, Ama had learnt a few basic words like ‘cinnamon,’ ‘cotton,’ ‘beef,’ ‘silver’ and ‘gold,’ and all the usual products you would expect too see at market, but that could only take her so far and she was desperate to learn something secretly from her brother’s lesson who at his young and pampered age had yet to comprehend the gift his father was trying to pass onto him. So far, she had learnt that each grouping of symbols which combined to form the label for various products was made up of a group of single symbols, each symbol represented a sound and when these sounds were written in a specific order the symbols created the sound of the name. It all seemed very clever to Ama, but she wasn’t able to differentiate which sounds where represented by which symbols and so whenever she eavesdropped on her stepbrother’s lessons she hoped that something would be revealed that will reveal the secret to unlocking the mysterious symbols her father guarded so jealously, not even his wife Ida could sit in during these sessions. Not that Ida would ever choose to learn to read and write, so long as Porto kept her dressed in fine cloth, adorned with jewels and the luxurious lifestyle she had become accustomed too.

Ama was still reclining against the wall, head back, fingers stroking the harp when a group of servants nosily entered into the room through the corridor that led to the kitchen, when Ama was spotted the chatter abruptly stopped and the servants went about setting the table for dinner in silence. At the abruptness of silence Ama could only assume the servants had been gossiping about the comments Jentin had made about her and a fresh wave of shame heated through her body as she disappeared back towards her room to change before the family was summoned to eat. Thankfully Sessi had gone from her room when Ama returned, most likely to fulfill her duties before dinner was served allowing Ama the peace and space she craved. Carefully unwrapping the sash from around her middle and pulling off the soft green dress Ama laid them down carefully back in her chest of meager clothing and pulled out her usual brown smock to change into before returning back to the dining room as the sound of the gong sounded through the halls to summon the master. Dinner, in Ama’s opinion, was always an elaborate farce at what Porto believed to be superior dining. A low table surrounded by thick mats to sit on, the family of six arranged themselves as comfortable as they could. Porto always sat at the head of the table with Ida to his right and Portus to his left, it was clear who the key figure in the family were, the remaining three children could arrange themselves as they pleased, but usually Pollo sat next to Ida and vied for attention with his older brother from his parents, while Idin, would sit quietly at the other end of the table as far from his parents, stepbrothers and Ama as possible. Ama always pitied Idin, it must be hard to be disowned by your mother and stepfather to be called nephew when in reality he was a son, the eldest son, and his jealousy of Portus was barely concealed beneath his cold exterior. Not even Ama who equally suffered from her parents’ ambitions could persuade him to soften up around her. He was trapped, disowned by his parents but nowhere else to go, he had no choice but to stay and wait for whatever wife they may find for him and to see whether or not Porto would enlist him in his trade or else his wife would need to provide him with land or the money to buy land, but few offers had been made. Everyone knew Idin was a loose end, and the anger and resentment had destroyed the little boy who found no love from his parents. What sort of man he was beginning to turn into Ama did not know and nobody else seemed to care, but she could not help but feel a little uncomfortable around her silent stepbrother. The distinct aroma of fat, burning wood and alcohol began to drift into the dinning room as the servants began carrying in trays of food. Only the wealthiest families could afford to cook meat in wine to provide rich sauces and gravy and butter for the vegetables. However Porto’s cook seemed more inclined to sample too much of the wine while cooking in the hot kitchen and pouring vast quantities into the cooking pots with little thought or care as to how to blend the herbs and spices to create an elegant and tasty dish. As it was, Ama usually struggled to eat much food at dinner time as the alcohol that her food swam in usually made her feel quite sick. Porto was the exception, he loved the food and the wine that dripped from each morsel he raised to his mouth, the rest of the family, while not as delicate as Ama appeared to be, did not seem to relish in it as Porto did and used the flat bread to soak up most of it off their plate. As Ama sat there picking at the food on her plate while ignoring the constant bickering of her youngest two brothers at the other end of the table Porto turned to her with a mouthful of sodden chicken and raised his voice between chews.

How do you… expect to grow… hips, child… when you don’t eat… the good food I pay… to have put in front… of you… every night he swallowed and belched loudly in Ama’s direction who was secretly pleased that during his tirade, he had inadvertently repeatedly sprayed Ida with spittle who was now delicately trying to discreetly wipe her face and shoulder with a look of sheer contempt across her narrow face.

Maybe we should go to the temple tomorrow and ask the priests how long it will take until she can be wed, she suggested, trying to look and sound aloof from her husband’s table manners as she pried apart her two young sons who had begun to lean over the table to poke each other. He nodded in agreement.

Aye, that sounds a good idea to me, and while we are out she may catch the eye of someone, he chewed thoughtfully for a moment, we will leave late afternoon, when the market is cooler after the heat of midday and the busiest time on the plaza, that way more people can see her after they have had a bit too much drink, he laughed at his own joke and Ida smiled with him staring at Ama intently.

No man would find her attractive enough to wed any other way, Ama refused to look at her stepmother but she could feel the animosity like needle pricks all over her body.

Maybe if a man does take an interest in her at market, you should just give her to him Porto, if he has her there and then it will be too late to refuse in the morning when he wakes up from his drunken stupor. Ama froze at the threat. She would be ruined if a man took her away from her family before she was wed, Ida would convince Porto to disown her and she would be lost. Ama put her hands in her lap carefully to hide them shaking with fright and was almost deafened by her racing pulse beating loudly in her ears, drowning out the rest of the dinner conversation. Tomorrow was going to be a very dangerous day and Ama knew she would have to be cunning and careful not to attract the wrong attention and make sure Porto did not leave her at any point during the trip for gossip and slander or any man to ruin her. In the corner of her eye she could see Idin looking down into her lap where her hands were still shaking between her knees, she turned to face him, desperate for reassurement from someone, but Idin had never once tried to form some sort of alliance with Ama in the past, and this time was no better, he stared at her blankly, then turned away to finish his own food. Feeing sick with worry Ama did not touch the rest of her meal that night, but instead waited until the rest of the family had finished eating so she could be dismissed, where upon she hurried into her room and covered herself in blankets on her pallet and prayed throughout the night for help that would not come to save her from the fate she had been dealt by being born a girl to a disgraced ex-wife.

Chapter two

The villa where Porto and his family lived was situated near the coast of the kingdom Mon’Memnin, the location had been specifically chosen so that the merchants’ produce could travel the short distance between home and the port which brought in exotic goods from other cities and was near to the town market and roads for the caravans which all convened in the profitable town of Min’Lon which had grown thanks to the successful trade from these modes of transport. Porto’s villa had a large storeroom dedicated to his merchandise and he would decide depending on the time of year, current demand and trends, which merchandise he would send into the market to sell. This was his secret to success, instead of specializing in one trade like Jentin and his cattle, Porto stayed flexible to the market’s needs and he was always the man to see if you wanted something new and unusual. While nothing like the capital city of Mel’Onin, Min’Lon was a comfortable place to live, the houses were sturdy and well built, with a few villas like Porto’s situated just outside the main sprawl of the town’s buildings on a small hill providing the residents with a view of incoming traffic while far away enough not to be disturbed by the noise and smells that seemed to be a key feature with any market town.

Despite the smell, Ama loved visiting the plaza where the most successful merchants and traders such as her father had their stalls. Always busy, even during the stifling heat of midday, the place was a buzz of noise, animals baying and complaining loudly at the strange atmosphere they found themselves in, their tails flicking irritably at the swarm of flies around them. Children laughing and screaming would get under foot and angry calls would often be heard following their disappearing backs. Fishermen’s and farmer’s wives haggling over prices of the food their husbands and sons had caught or ploughed earlier in the day while mothers scolded and called to runaway children who had disappeared to play while their mothers compromised on prices and gossiped about scandal over the stalls. Meanwhile men were bartering and arguing over politics and business in loud voices, waiting to get home to hear about the town’s gossip from their wives to then talk about over ale with other husbands and fathers later in the evening. It wasn’t just the noise that invaded the senses on a trip to market, the colours that stole your attention were almost normal, if one could get used to such things; all towns folk wore the distinct bright warm colours of red, oranges and pinks that was the typical style of the people and they complemented the warm sandstone buildings and baked earth beneath their feet that they walked upon. The sky was always a lapis lazuli blue except for when it rained or when the sun bled to turn the sky rich crimsons. The weather so hot, there was little green to be seen except for the few thin trees around the port or on the outskirts of town where the crops lay. Always warm and colourful, always cheerful it was a bold woman, or rich noble to wear other colder colours like blues and greens. Nobody was allowed to wear white, only the priests and priestesses who competed equally for attention and homage from the town’s people when they decided to leave their temples. They stood out strongly against the colour of the crowds in their white holy robes, the priests of the God Min, that the town had been named in honor of, wore large gold bangles around their ankles and wrists like shackles as a symbol of absolute servitude and devotion to their god even though they probably wore more gold than most nobles would have the common decency to flaunt, or so Ama heard her father once say, and the priestesses of the Goddess Melona, wore the symbolic collar that all women were given when they became married. The only difference between a priestess’ collar was that a holy collar was made of silver to represent the moon and purity, and a married woman’s collar, if her husband was wealthy enough, was supposed to be made out of gold, for wealth and prosperity. The poorer man’s wife had to make do with a collar woven in gold thread, a sign in metal or cloth that she was the property and wife of another man. It made it easy to spot a married woman in town, they were the one’s whose necks glinted in the sun, and it made the single girls look almost poor without any fine jewelry to adorn them. Their only material to turn heads was the choice of colour or close cut of a thin dress to turn eligible and married men’s heads alike at her passing, tempting any man who sees her to go out and buy a gold collar to put around her neck and make her a wife. After that, a married woman can have as many collars as her husband would buy her, all she had to do was choose which one to wear when she wakes in the morning.

The temples were located on the other side of town from Porto’s villa and slightly north of the port to avoid the smell of rotting fish and tar from the boats, but close enough that the water provide clean, fresh breezes to keep the temples cool even on the hottest summers day and the views were always spectacular. They had been the first to suggest the profitable trade in fertilizer, for anyone strong willed or desperate enough to ignore the smell. These men cleaned the streets of waste left by animal and humans alike, so the streets were kept reasonably clean, and they could sell the fertilizer to those who needed it at a total profit. While Porto would never allow himself to stoop so low as to gather waste from the streets to sell from a cart on the outskirts of the town where the farming lands usually lay, he couldn’t help be a little jealous at the seemingly easy money and profit they made at little to no expense of their own although Ama doubted it was as easy as it sounds and did not envy the wives the men would go back to after shoveling muck on a hot day like today.

The current trend in the market that Porto was exploiting was the fashionable sash, like what Sessi had wrapped around Ama’s waist before her humiliating ordeal in front of Jentin, and tiny pots of a crushed flower whose potent scent had become very popular for washing hair in and perfuming to mask the ever potent scent of hot, sweaty and frequently dirty bodies. He didn’t seem to mind that his current top sellers were aimed more specifically for women, it was the men who usually paid for their wives and daughters adornments and whatever would stop their wives from complaining in their ears when they got home from working or a sweet perfume to entice a husband for their daughters were usually considered essential items on any man’s shopping list. Porto’s stall was always surrounded by customers, men and women alike, who now marveled at the variety of colours of the must have sashes, some in shimmering skills, others more modest cotton but equally as vibrant, even the sweet smelling pots of the crushed flower were made in all sizes and materials from basic pottery to elaborate terracotta and even wood. No potential customer was left not catered for at Porto’s stall, and he had built a strong reputation with both rich and poor people. Today Porto had Ama standing by to assist customers, this was not a normal role for a woman in this city and few people actually asked anything from her, it was enough that she stood there, wearing the same dress and sash as yesterday, which was such an unusual colour to be seen at market, modeling for other girls too see. While she did not have the curvaceous figure of some of the ladies she did look rather striking to the consumers, with the green complementing her paler skin, the deep red of her glossy hair caused a stir of conversation as the sun revealed strands of gold among the ruby red locks and her golden eyes could hold peoples attention in a way Ama was not yet used too. For once in her life, even though Porto’s decision to place her at the front of the stall was on purpose to attract attention, and it was clear he was pleased with himself for doing so for he frequently pointed Ama out to show people how the sash was supposed to be tied, Ama was at least able to revel in it slightly, to feel that maybe she isn’t as ugly as her stepmother claimed. She was beginning to enjoy herself in the warm sun, listening to the haggling and answering the occasional question from a curious girl, but as she enjoyed the attention she was getting, she couldn’t help but notice some of the men staring at her just a little longer than necessary, or travelling over her dress in a manner that made Ama doubt they were admiring the colour or the linen it was made from and it began to dawn on Ama the uncomfortable feeling of a man’s gaze which was too familiar, and unwelcome and a threat Ida made over dinner. She faltered slightly, just a quick twitch of her leg and a stiffening of her posture, her smile frozen in place seemed more like a grimace. She couldn’t run away, it would be more dangerous for her to disappear now, she had to stay close by, but out in the sun and with the stall so busy as people clamored to buy similar green cloth to emulate Ama’s own ensemble which she was showing off perhaps too well, she could not hide. It wasn’t like she was flirting with the customers or behaving in a brazen manner like she had once seen the tavern women do when Porto and the family had been returning home quite late one evening, Ama attracted the attention because she was different. Most of the beautiful women around her were all dark skinned, black or soil brown hair with eyes from deep black to rich maple, none were pale as she, none had strange gold coloured eyes, and nobody had ever seen such red hair and the pleasure she originally felt turned to chagrin. She wasn’t pretty, she was the freak Ida made her out to be, and these people were here to stare and talk about her behind their hands, the famous merchant’s ugly daughter who no man would wed even though she was of marriageable age. Defeated her shoulders slumped and she ignored the constant market chatter going on around her and would not look at anyone. A heavy hand suddenly landed on her shoulder and Ama froze with fright but it was only her father who had noticed Ama’s change in attitude and had come to intervene before she affected the mood of the customers.

Getting a bit too hot for you my child, he said brightly, not a woman’s job this, he turned back to his customers, I will have to close a little earlier than usual this evening, my daughter and I have business elsewhere. There was a hurried surge of excitement at this announcement as people who had been debating whether or not to make a purchase, now felt compelled to buy before the stall closed early. Porto deftly took peoples’ coins and handed out cloth and pots with quick practiced hands, all the while shielding the muted Ama from too much scrutiny. As the last of the paying customers went on their way with their new items, Porto instructed his servants to close up the stall and pack what had not been sold back into the cart to take back to the villa. He kept the money he had made in a purse with him, which he tucked into his tunic. Once everything was packed away and the cart was heading home Porto looked hard at Ama, wondering what to do with his strange daughter.

Come on then, the priests aren’t going to come to us. He took Ama by the arm and began to walk with her through the plaza, which was still busy with merchants trying to sell their wares and people looking at what was on offer. Porto loved the market place, so much money to be made, and everyday was a good day for him. People nodded their heads, waved cheerily or sometimes even stopped to have a word with Porto as he slowly made his way across town in the direction of the temples. Ama was barely noticeable following him around like a shadow and despite her odd colouring, still managed to remain in the background and he felt himself growing impatient.

What use is it me taking you out to be seen, if you insist on hiding behind me wherever we go? He demand in an exasperated tone as another merchant he knew to have a son close to Ama’s age walked away after a short conversation and had barely looked once in Ama’s direction. Ama just stood there, head down, hands clasped in front of her unable to speak despite her father waiting, instead she just watched his foot tapping in impatience in his reed sandals,

Arch!’ he threw his hands up in disgust, maybe I should just sell you to the priestesses." Ama’s head jerked up at this outburst but Porto had already turned and stomped away. Ama knew very little about life as a priestess, but she couldn’t imagine it being any worse than living at home or marrying a man she didn’t like. If Porto’s outburst was serious and not an empty threat Ama may have a way to escape the life she detested, all she had to do was find a way to convince Porto that it was in his best interests, which means in the best interest of his purse, that selling Ama to the temple was more profitable than marrying her and her expensive dowry to another man. Her pace quickened as she made an effort to keep up with Porto’s angry stomp towards the now short remaining distance to the coast front where the temple grounds were situated, thinking of as many ways and reasons as possible to convince the priestesses to take her into their service and away from her family at last.

Ama could not help but slow down as she neared the temple complex where both Min and Melona were worshipped by their own priesthoods. She had never actually been inside the complex having only ever seen it from a distance and now she could look up close at the polished white limestone walls and marble statues, which were so different and seemingly more eternal than the rough sandstone of the town buildings or even Porto’s villa. Large palm trees lined the roads within the complex providing plenty of shade and she could smell the salty tang of the sea without the typical odors of the port, which were overpowering. Flowers grew in abundance on the ground and birds chirped away as bees hummed, the overall effect was very tranquil as the bustle and stress or market life dimmed and were forgotten in this separate world. Even Porto seemed affected, his bad mood melted away and he walked slowly down the shaded road, enjoying the scenery to the temple buildings.

In their religion, Min and Melona were a husband and wife pair, Min was represented by the sun and fire, Melona was the moon and water. The priests and priestesses teach the town’s people that Min and Melona used to rule together over the land where it was always daylight and the land was prosperous. They had many children together who populated the land and lived off the animals and fruits that grew under the glowing sun. However, not everyone was happy, the war god Tardo who was husband to the goddess of beauty and art, Tami, was jealous of their happiness and power and he led a war of his own people against Min’s children, killing all of them but the eldest boy who he left alive. At the death of each child, being the children of Gods they did not die as men would do, but instead became tiny suns themselves in the sky but could not be seen because of the power and brilliance of their father. Upon discovering the murder of their children Min became angry and blotted out his sun plunging the world into total darkness, Melona however was devastated at the death of her children and she left Min to be with them as the moon watching over her small tiny children as stars in the now night sky. Tardo, faced with eternal night and the life of Min’s eldest son in his power went first to Melona to plead with her to convince Min to bring back the sun for the life of her eldest and last surviving son, but Melona would not leave her children and did not answer Tardo’s request. Angry, Tardo then sought out a distraught Min who had lost his children and now his wife. Tardo made him an offer, if Min would allow his eldest son to marry Tardo’s eldest daughter they could rule the land as first king and queen and Tardo would pledge himself to their protection and the protection of their children. Min agreed, but he could not abandon his wife who now inhabited the night, so Min would rise for half a day and then Melona would rise for the other half thus bringing about night and day. And this is how the king and queen of Mon’Memnin were founded and the current king is said to be the direct descendent of this marriage making him godly and the only person able to converse with the Gods and under Tardo’s, the war god’s, protection.

While everybody knew the story of the Gods and the heritage of their king, Ama had never particularly been interested in holy service, but surrounded by the beauty and elegance of the temple grounds, and her burning desire to escape from her father’s household it had never occurred to her that she could find sanctuary here, perhaps even enjoy a life of celibacy if this is where she could live. Porto was admiring the temple grounds as well but had a slightly different appreciation in mind. He could see the wealth and luxury all around him, and knew that the holy men and women who commanded these grounds and wore gold and silver over their fine white linen could be bought, if the goods he could trade promised the luxury the priesthoods had clearly become accustomed too. Porto was in his element, he was comfortable here, only Ama was overwhelmed by the richness, an intent Porto was sure was used by the priests and priestesses to overwhelm their visitors to convince them the place was holy, not just bursting with wasted wealth from paying supplicants.

Stepping off the road and out from the shade of the trees and into the shade of the temple buildings Porto turned towards the entrance for the temple of Melona. Her temple was made out of white limestone, polished until it seemed as smooth and delicate as eggshells. Large columns swept up to the ceiling, hugged by delicate climbers with closed flower buds, the floors were made from the rocks found along the coast and in them you could see patterns of circles and coils, and many different colours that seemed to twist around each other in many bands, each flagstone worn smooth first by careful craftsmanship and then by the many visitors to the temple praying for divine intervention in their worldly problems. Porto’s and Ama’s sandals made a gentle slapping noise as they walked through the entrance, the sound echoing off the walls, in the distance a gentle hum of talk could be heard from other visitors talking and praying to the goddess in her main reception chamber. Ama could not see into this room yet, only hear that other people were inside, Porto hovered just inside the entrance, as a man, he needed a priestess to guide him to the reception chamber, for he was not permitted anywhere else upon pain of death. It was not long before a priestess ghosted out from one of the dark corridors on either side of the entrance, her walk was smooth and silent, her face aloof and proud as if all before her were the dirtiest of peasants, smiling thinly as she approached them until she was close enough to appreciate that this man, from his well made clothes, reed sandals and gold rings on his hands, at least had some wealth.

The goddess welcomes you in her temple. Her voice was light and gentle like a whisper, but yet sounded musical like the sweet singing birds at dusk.

Ah, yes, umm, Porto stumbled over his words, not sure how to address this strange and confident woman. My daughter here, indicating Ama, is twelve summers old and no husband will have her for she does not look a woman of age fit enough to wife, he had the good grace to blush as the priestess’ serene expression turned to one of disgust at Porto’s explanation, but he pursued his case regardless, but his voice sounded more hesitant and less commanding than Ama had ever heard.

I seek the goddess’ knowledge. When will my daughter grow into her body and can the goddess help her to… grow… soon… ? Porto almost choked but he forced the last two words out despite a clearly insulted priestess and looked at his feet and then around him at the walls, clearly too uncomfortable to meet the penetrating gaze of the angry young woman in front of him who had seemed so sweet and unthreatening just a few moments ago. He waited, sweating, for the priestess to answer him, when she did, both Porto and Ama winced at the contempt in her voice.

My goddess does not expect men to know how the body of a woman grows and takes it shape, would you tell a flower to hurry up and bloom just so you can pick it from its stem all the sooner?

No. No of course not.

"Then why do you expect you daughter