Shadow of Athena

By Elena Douglas

In a cruel, centuries-old tradition, lovely sixteen-year-old Marpessa of Lokris is chosen by lot to serve as a slave for one year in distant Troy, across the Aegean Sea. She can return, but only if she survives. Marpessa leaves behind her devoted mother, and also a ruthless oligarch, Klonios, who vows to have her as his wife upon her return. The young slave Arion is sent to escort the maiden on her treacherous journey. After delivering her safely, he escapes slavery to eke out a living on the Trojan shore, until barbarians raid Troy. Captivated by the girl from the sea journey, Arion rushes to save her. The two find themselves marooned in a rough, unforgiving land teeming with dangers. Struggling to survive, they yield to a forbidden love. Marpessa longs to remain with her beloved, but Arion knows he must give her up. When they lose everything in a deadly flash flood, he must return her safely home, despite the price on his head as a runaway slave and the evil Klonios who lurks in wait. By the time they reach Lokris, Marpessa is with child. Enraged, Klonios orders their deaths, but Arion will stop at nothing to save Marpessa’s life. Even at the cost of his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Penmore Press LLC
• Release date: Oct 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781946409997

Elena Douglas

Barbara Brunetti, who writes as Elena Douglas, was born in Paris, where she spent the first seven years of her life until her parents divorced and her mother remarried. After immigrating to the United States, Barbara and her newly blended family lived in New England. During a summer spent in an isolated cabin in the White Mountains when she was eight, her mother read her a child’s version of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Thus began a lifelong fascination with the legends of ancient Greece. Barbara’s birth parents spent years in a virulent custody battle for her and her older sister, waged across two continents, including an abduction of the girls by their father, who kept them sequestered in France. This is the subject of her upcoming memoir. During those turbulent years, Barbara often escaped into her own world and made up stories and poems, some of which she wrote down. By age twelve, she knew she wanted to be a writer. When she was a teen, the family moved to Berkeley, California. She attended U.C. Berkeley, married, and started a family. She enjoyed a long career teaching middle school and junior high English. During those years novel writing was her passion, but she seldom had enough time to devote to it. She left teaching in order to pursue her writing career. Shadow of Athena is her first published novel. Her other novels are also based on ancient history and legend. She and her husband live in Berkeley, California, and are very involved with their two grown children, four grandchildren, and a variety of grand-pets.

Book preview

DEDICATION

To Tom, André. and Tazia,

who have supported my dream from the beginning

Map1

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to my family, both immediate and extended, too many to name, for believing in me, for not telling me to shut up and go away when I bored you with endless talk of my writing. Thanks for listening, reading my manuscripts, and giving me feedback. Thanks also to the members of my long-standing writers’ group, past and present: Bud Gundy, Pat Elmore, Cleo Jones, Nellie Romero, Shoshana Dembitz, Susan Domingos, and the dearly-missed Charlene Weir and Avis Worthington. You endured so many drafts of all my novels, and each of you imparted your own special wisdom. You’ve have taught me everything I know. Thanks to Beth Barany for helping me frame my synopses and queries. Thank you, Dan Levine, for the book jacket photograph; you did wonders! A big thanks to Carol Collier for the wonderful map you made. You are an artist. Thank you also to friends, colleagues, and former students, for the hope and encouragement you have so generously offered me over the years. Again there are too many of you to name, but please know that I am grateful. And above all thanks to Michael James of Penmore Press, whose invaluable help and advice inspired me to make this a much better book.

PROLOGUE

AJAX: THE LEGEND

During the sack of Troy, the Greek warrior Ajax of Lokris committed a terrible sacrilege. As the Trojan princess Kassandra sought refuge in the temple of Athena, Ajax tore her brutally from the sanctuary and raped her. When his own warriors threatened to kill him for it, Ajax saved himself by vowing to expiate his sin. But on his homeward journey the unappeased Athena wrecked his ship near the coast of Greece. Ajax managed to scramble onto a rock near the shore and, in his arrogance, shouted defiance at the gods, enraging Poseidon, who split the rock and sent Ajax plunging into the sea. He drowned without ever atoning for his sin.

Deprived of her revenge, Athena turned the full force of her wrath against his homeland, Lokris.

1

THE PRIESTESS

As the priestess in charge of discipline shoved her into her cell, Marpessa saw the long wooden rod in the priestess’s right hand. Her legs went weak.

What did I do wrong? she wondered.

Kneel. The priestess pointed. Brace yourself against the wall.

Marpessa knelt on the dirt floor, her back to the priestess. She felt a rush of air. Lightning exploded through her, the pain unlike anything she’d ever known. If not for her hands against the wall, she would have fallen.

Disobedient girl! Another whoosh, another blow. And again. She couldn’t catch her breath. She bit her lips hard enough to bleed. Two more whacks without a pause. Everything went dark red.

She would not cry out.

Another blow. Six now? She’d lost count. How much more could she stand?

The stick struck again. She tried to think herself somewhere else. The meadow. The woods behind her house. The home she’d left behind.

It was impossible.

Another blow fell. The priestess grunted with effort.

Mother! Marpessa screamed in her mind. Two more blows fell in quick succession.

Ten. Tears flooded her face despite her will, yet she made no sound. She tensed for the next blow, but it did not fall.

Get up, the priestess said.  Marpessa staggered to her feet, drawing shaky breaths, surprised she could straighten, could breathe. Her back burned and throbbed. With painful slowness she turned to face her tormentor. The Mistress of Discipline, a stone-faced woman of middle years, stared at her, the stick still in her hand. Malice shone in her eyes.

Do you promise never to go out into the courtyard again?

Marpessa managed a nod before realizing her meaning. Gasping, she said, For going into the courtyard—I was flogged?

You’re here to atone for the sin of Ajax, not to take idle pleasure outside, the priestess said severely. And you were not flogged. Men—prisoners, runaway slaves—are flogged and often die of it. I did not use my full strength. You will not die. Now turn around. Let me see your back. Marpessa complied. But before she could protest, the priestess lifted her shift to her neck, leaving her completely bare. Marpessa hugged her arms around her chest and cringed from the cold air on her aching flesh. Only bruised. The priestess sounded disappointed. No broken skin. She let the shift fall into place. To make sure you’ve learned your lesson, you’ll be confined to your cell for three days with nothing but bread and water.

Three days in this tiny hole! Who will do my sweeping? Marpessa asked.

Haleia will do the work for both of you. See? She too is punished! It will go much harder if you disobey again. The priestess hit the floor with her stick for emphasis. Terrible things happen to girls who defy the goddess. Athena might strike you dead for your hubris.  Consider yourself lucky you got off so lightly this time. She turned and left, closing the door with a vicious slam.

Marpessa fell prone on her pallet and gave in to bitter tears. Mother! she cried in silence. Oh, Mother, I wish I were in your arms!

Amaltheia would have gently chided her for breaking the rules. But I thought it would do no harm, Mother. I had no idea. Weeks—she’d lost track of how many—had passed since this servitude began, and until now she had been obedient. But yesterday, looking longingly out of her window at the sunny courtyard and seeing no one nearby, she had crept outside to catch the warmth and feel the breeze, if only for a few moments. Someone had seen and reported her.

Oh, Mother, how will I endure here for a whole year?

She heard Amaltheia’s beloved voice in her head. Endure you must, my darling. And once the year passes, you will come back to me.

But her return was far from certain. What if I am beaten again, for some minor infraction I didn’t know of? What if I fall ill? What if I die here? What if I never go home again?

She thought of the parting words the slave Arion had said as he left her in the temple.

You are stronger than you know.

But was she? In her lonely cell Marpessa remembered the day it had all begun.

CHAPTER 2

THE CHOOSING

She was sixteen, and her name was in the drawing for the first time.

Once a year in spring, the Hundred Houses of Lokris gathered in the agora with their marriageable daughters for the dreaded ceremony of the Choosing. Anguished mothers and even a few fathers clutched their girls by the arms, knowing that regardless of the tightest hold, the most loving embrace, the blind hand of Athena would pluck two maidens from their midst like fledglings from a nest.

Amidst the somber crowd in the heat-shimmer glare of noon, Marpessa stood with her mother Amaltheia and her nursemaid Eumene. Above them loomed the immense marble Athena, brought out of the temple on a wheeled platform. As Marpessa gazed up, the goddess’s fixed stone smile became sinister, the painted eyes boring into hers. In all her life she had never feared anything, not even her father’s rages, his hard hand striking her face. But she was afraid now, the hairs rising on her arms and the back of her neck. She smelled the stink of her own cold sweat.

If her name was drawn today, she could be killed.

I probably won’t be chosen, she told herself. But as she turned to her mother for reassurance, she caught an unguarded look of helplessness on Amaltheia’s face that rendered it haggard and old. Oh, Goddess! she whispered in her mind. Please, not me, not me, not me. From her sash she pulled the downy white feather she’d found in the woods the day before. She stroked it gently, but its softness failed to soothe her.

Tension skittered through the throng. What’s happening? someone else demanded, straining to see.

The High Priestess is approaching the altar, followed by the other priestesses, said a man taller than the rest. Marpessa, standing on tiptoes, was too far back to see.

An unseen hand struck a gong, and silence fell. The shadow of the goddess seemed to grow darker, more forbidding. The High Priestess’s voice rang out. We’re here to choose the two maidens who will this year appease you, brilliant Athena, for the curse Ajax brought to our land. Glances came Marpessa’s way, for many knew she was a descendant of Ajax. O Goddess, we pray, bestow your protection and bounty on our land. Hundreds of years ago, she continued, because of Ajax’s sacrilege, you, O Goddess, sent drought, plague, and famine to Lokris. When our forefathers appealed to the oracle at Delphi they learned that, to lift the curse and atone for his sin, we must send two maidens from Lokris each spring to serve a year as slaves in your temple at Troy. She paused dramatically. Every year for a thousand years!

Amaltheia’s hands gripping Marpessa’s shoulders began to tremble. A clattering came from the altar. What’s that? a woman nearby asked.

The tall man said, The High Priestess is reaching into the caldron that holds the ceramic pieces with all the maidens’ names.

I will now draw the first name, the High Priestess said. There was a pause. It was as if the crowd stopped breathing. At last she announced, Haleia, daughter of Polites!

Cries came from the middle of the crowd. Hands reached out to the family whose daughter had been summoned. Marpessa couldn’t remember who this girl was. Though I must know her. The High Priestess commanded, Haleia, come forward, and through the parting crowd Marpessa caught a glimpse of a tall young woman with a high forehead and straight brown hair. Her! The one with the ailing mother and all the younger brothers and sisters. What lies ahead for her now? But she knew.

A dangerous journey to a distant land. A year of harsh servitude. A lifetime of virginity.

Or perhaps no life at all.

She heard crackling from the altar, and a white plume of smoke rose into the sky. The goddess finds Haleia acceptable, the High Priestess intoned. I will now seek the other who will accompany her. Again came the clatter of ceramic pieces in the caldron. Everything blurred before Marpessa’s eyes. The clattering went on forever. She was afraid she might be sick.

Then like a crack of thunder came the voice from the altar. Marpessa, daughter of Thrasios, come forward! You have been chosen.

Marpessa’s knees dissolved. She almost sank to the ground. It can’t be.

Amaltheia flung her arms around her. Oh, no! I won’t let them take you!

Shocked faces stared. Hush, my lady, that’s blasphemy! Eumene the nursemaid whispered. Let her go.

Marpessa couldn’t move. Go, someone urged her. As all eyes watched, she managed to walk, trembling, toward the altar.

I must be brave, she thought. I must accept my lot and serve the goddess well.

At the altar she barely saw the High Priestess and the acolytes behind her. Instead her gaze leapt to Haleia, who stood frozen like a deer at bay. She saw pain and fear in the other girl’s eyes. So it’s the two of us, she thought. Alone together.

The High Priestess gestured to a small priestess at her side who sprinkled incense into the smoking censer. As white smoke plumed skyward, the High Priestess said, Athena finds Marpessa acceptable. She directed the two girls to join hands across the altar, and wrapped a purple band around their wrists. Marpessa stared at the geometric design of Athena’s sacred owl woven into the ribbon. A memory jolted her. The white feather I picked up yesterday. An owl’s. She’d stuck it in her sash as a talisman. It had drawn the goddess’s notice as a tall tree attracts the lightning.

The carefree girl who had picked up that feather now seemed a lifetime away.

Marpessa stood cold and numb as the priestess looped the band once, twice, thrice around the girls’ wrists and said, Now you are bound to Athena for life.

How could this have happened?

CHAPTER 3

THE VINTNER

Marpessa’s father’s warehouse was far from the agora, and his mind a long way from the Choosing. In fact he had forgotten all about it. When Klonios came charging into his counting room, Thrasios the vintner looked desperately around, wishing he could escape. He knew why Klonios had come.

You don’t have my quota of wine! Klonios slammed his fist onto the table. "How dare you default on our agreement?"

Thrasios’s gut clenched. It wasn’t possible. An early frost ruined many of my grapes.

"‘It wasn’t possible!’ Klonios mocked. Deep-cut lines surrounded his narrowed eyes and downturned mouth. He was taut, wiry, muscular, his skin weathered and his black hair shot with gray, about Thrasios’s own age of sixty winters. So, he demanded, just how many amphorae do you have ready for my trading voyage?"

Thrasios gulped, his throat dry. Twelve, my lord.

"Only twelve? Last fall you promised at least thirty. You swore by the gods."

Thrasios swallowed hard. It was the best I could do. To produce even that amount, he’d gone into debt buying mature vines from other vintners. What a reckless gamble, he thought now. I can make up the losses next year.

Too late! Klonios snapped. I overestimated your abilities. And to think I was going to make you an oligarch! His malicious eyes glared so fiercely Thrasios’s gaze fell. Klonios turned toward the door. Fortunately there are other vintners in Lokris.

Thrasios’s stomach plunged. I’ll be ruined if he doesn’t buy my wine! My lord, please! Take the twelve amphorae at a reduced cost!

Klonios gave no reply. In a sudden change of mood he sat down at the table. Thrasios hastily pushed aside scrolls and tally sheets and produced two bronze goblets and a wine jar. Will you at least sample this year’s vintage? His voice sounded servile, yet he couldn’t help it. Klonios was the richest, most powerful man in Lokris, and his ships plied the seas between mainland Hellas and all the colonies, carrying goods from Lokris to the far corners of the world. He was one of the eight oligarchs who governed the Council of the Hundred. Every man on the council feared him.

Thrasios poured wine, mixed in water, and watched tensely while the other man sipped. Not bad, Klonios pronounced grudgingly and fell silent. He seemed to be waiting. He came here for something other than the wine, Thrasios realized. He searched his mind desperately. What does he want?

All at once he knew. The Dionysian festival last autumn, his daughter Marpessa dancing in the maidens’ dance. The other girls kept their gazes cast down, but not Marpessa. Her eyes shone, and her hair flew about, loosened from the vigor of her movements. So immodest, dancing with abandon like a Maenad! The shame of it—he wanted to strike her. Then, glancing across the crowd he saw Klonios staring at her with naked desire. Thrasios was stunned. Klonios’s wife lay ill with a wasting sickness. When she dies I can offer him Marpessa, he thought. Praise the gods, daughters can be of some use after all!

Klonios was watching him expectantly. How ill is the wife? Thrasios wondered. I have a marriageable daughter, he blurted.

How interesting that you should mention her! How old is she?

Sixteen. Blossoming into womanhood.

I like them young. Klonios gave a lewd smirk. Has she a sizeable dowry?

Aye! Thrasios prayed Klonios wouldn’t ask how sizeable, for much of it had gone into this reckless venture.

Klonios smiled coldly. My wife won’t live to see me return from this voyage. When I come back, I’ll offer for your daughter’s hand.

The blood rushed to Thrasios’s head. Klonios’s marriage to Marpessa would be an undreamed-of distinction and would save Thrasios’s neck. I will be honored!

And the girl’s mother? Will she be equally honored? Klonios asked with biting sarcasm.

Thrasios’s face heated at the implication that Amaltheia was not under his control. When he’d made the mistake of telling her of his secret hope, she had snarled like an enraged cat. Not that old villain! And his wife not even dead yet. Have you considered Marpessa’s wishes at all? A blow across her jaw had served to silence her. Neither his wife nor the girl had any say in this. They would know nothing until the time came.

My wife, he said stiffly, agrees completely with all my decisions.

Klonios gave a rude snort and stood up. That is well. Let us swear a solemn oath on it and offer libation to Zeus.

Thrasios lifted his untouched goblet. I swear before Zeus and all gods that my daughter will belong to Klonios and no other. He poured wine onto the dirt floor. Both men watched the purple stream sink into the earth. May the gods steal the breath from my body and the light from my eyes if I do not honor this vow.

Klonios gave a dark smile, his eyes like stones. Let it be so.

CHAPTER 4

THE CURSE OF AJAX

Amaltheia’s heart was torn from her breast. What if I never see her again? she said to Eumene.

The nursemaid rested a hand on her shoulder. My lady, it’s only for a year.

A year is a lifetime. And she could be killed. The girls would travel across the sea, and once they reached the Trojan shore, men from the countryside would lie in wait with stones and spears to hunt them like prey. Any man who made a kill would be accounted a hero. The girls would not be safe until they reached the sanctuary of Athena’s temple. It was all part of the ritual decreed by the goddess. Why didn’t the idiot priestess remind the crowd of this? Because she doesn’t want a riot on her hands, Amaltheia thought.

That probably won’t happen, Eumene said. It isn’t often that a girl is killed.

A girl had been killed two years ago. We had another drawing and sent a replacement girl, Amaltheia remembered. Even if she survives the journey, there are other dangers. Though many Lokrians live in Troy, the surrounding countryside is rough and uncivilized. And even if she comes back, she can never marry or have children.

Eumene had no answer. They advanced nearer to the altar. They saw the High Priestess lift her arms to the marble Athena and say, O Goddess, behold now the two maidens chosen to keep your favor with our land another year!

Shouts and applause broke from the crowd. Of course they’re cheering, Amaltheia thought bitterly. Their own daughters are safe for another year. Looking at the distant figure of Marpessa standing by the altar, she pushed forward through the crowd.

My lady, what are you doing? panted Eumene, hurrying to keep up.

I must see her before they take her away.

Wait! Everyone is staring at us. The old nursemaid grasped her mistress’s arm. The priestesses will likely let you speak to her once the ceremony is over.

Amaltheia drew a sharp breath. When she was near enough to see Marpessa clearly, she stopped. The girl’s eyes flew to meet hers. I must be strong, Amaltheia thought. I must give her courage and hope. She forced a smile. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, but the faintest answering smile touched Marpessa’s lips. As the High Priestess embarked on a long-winded prayer, Amaltheia drank in the sight of her daughter, whose brown hair, tinged with gold, cascaded down her back. Her skin was brown as a boy’s, her arms and legs slender and well muscled from climbing and running. An Amazon, Amaltheia thought with pride. Why did Athena pick her? She’s more Artemis’s child than Athena’s. Whenever she could, Marpessa escaped to the woods to listen to birds and watch wild animals. At times she brought home creatures to care for: an orphaned baby hare, a fledgling with a broken wing. Thrasios despised what he called her unwomanly ways, and Amaltheia often sought to defend her from his heavy hand.

This dreadful servitude to Athena will stifle her. If she survives.

Amaltheia had had a nightmare a few days before. A harpy had swooped down and carried Marpessa off, and then came a message that her daughter was dead. Amaltheia went cold at the memory. Dreams were often prophetic. The Fates are cruel, Amaltheia thought. By this time next year I could’ve had her married and she would never again have been in danger from the curse of Ajax. Thrasios had hoped to wed Marpessa to the powerful merchant Klonios. Not him! she had vowed. Someone who will care for her and make her happy. As I never was.

Now it was too late for any kind of wedding.

When the ceremony ended and the crowd started to disperse, Amaltheia strode toward the altar. Several acolytes blocked her path, but Amaltheia thrust her way up to the High Priestess. I must see Marpessa. She’s my only daughter, my youngest child. My most beloved.

It is not permitted, said the High Priestess. The maidens must be examined and purified. Then they must swear the oath before the goddess.

Examined? Amaltheia whispered.

It must be determined that they are virgins, the High Priestess answered.

Amaltheia was furious. How dare they? Oh, my poor child!

The acolytes were leading the girls toward the open doors of the temple. Amaltheia tried to rush after them, but two white-robed women grabbed her.

Let me at least speak to her! Amaltheia cried. And hold her in my arms.

The High Priestess shook her head. Go home, lady. She will be returned to you. For a brief time. In five days the ship will sail.

Amaltheia strained to catch a last glimpse of Marpessa as the two girls disappeared through the massive doors that swung shut behind them. How will I live without her?

CHAPTER 5

BROKEN VOW

Klonios walked from Thrasios’s warehouse well satisfied. The daughter was his, and he’d maneuvered Thrasios into offering her, so that he hadn’t even had to ask. He remembered the girl dancing at some festival last year, her graceful movements so full of life. He saw again her slim, lovely body, her loosened hair with its shimmer of sunlight. How different she was from the other maidens—pale, insipid, afraid to raise their eyes! And how different from his cold-blooded, barren wife, grown old and ill. He would teach this new young bride how to please a man. And what a pleasure it would be. He looked forward eagerly to the end of his upcoming journey.

A passerby jostled him, and he came to himself with a start. The street was crowded with people streaming away from the agora. Some kind of ceremony, he recalled, involving girls and women. He hadn’t paid attention.

Then he heard someone mutter, —saw her at the Choosing, and—

The Choosing! Though he spent many months journeying on his trading ships, Klonios prided himself on knowing everything of importance that happened in Naryx and the countryside of Lokris. How had this slipped his mind? When he reached his house, he quickly sent a manservant to the temple to find out whose daughters had been chosen for the yearly ritual.

When the servant returned with the report of the two names drawn, Klonios sat for a moment, stunned. It can’t be. Then he leapt up. The servant looked astonished when a huge bronze tripod came hurtling at his head. Ducking barely in time to avoid having his skull crushed, he fell to his knees and begged, Master, with your leave—

Go! Klonios snarled. Without waiting to see the creature crawl from his presence, he slung his mantle over his shoulder and stormed out of the house.

*****

Thrasios, working on his accounts in the warehouse, knew nothing until Klonios burst into his counting room like an angry bull. Thrasios jumped to his feet.

Deceiver! Klonios bellowed. "Your vow meant nothing!"

W–what? stammered Thrasios.

Don’t tell me you don’t know! Your daughter—chosen by the priestess for a long journey to Troy.

Thrasios went cold and for several heartbeats couldn’t breathe. The Choosing! It was today, he remembered. The High Priestess had reached into his household and taken his daughter. With the girl no longer his to rule, his power over his family was undermined. He sputtered, I didn’t know. I forgot about the Choosing.

Silence! roared Klonios. His fists clenched. His eyes shot flames Who else knows that we spoke of a betrothal?

No one, whispered Thrasios.

I won’t be a laughingstock. Klonios snatched up a goblet, which Thrasios hastened to fill. She’ll be gone for how long? A year? Then she’ll return?

Aye. If she survives.

Klonios gave his mask-like smile. Then I’ll wed her in a year. As we planned.

Thrasios swallowed hard. The rules of this—this rite we perform for the goddess demand that, once chosen, the girls belong to Athena. They must remain maidens all their days.

Klonios’s eyes narrowed dangerously. I care nothing for the rules. They were made by men. They can be changed.

Thrasios forced himself to say, This pact between the Hundred Houses and the goddess has been in place for untold generations. Since my daughter has been chosen, I am honor bound to uphold that choice.

Honor! Klonios spat. "Say rather fear."

We can’t displease the goddess, Thrasios said pleadingly. As a consequence of her wrath, we risk—

What? Drought? Famine? As she sent us before? I don’t fear these things. They won’t ruin me. I’ve holdings all around the Great Sea. His mouth twisted scornfully. "Out of all the winemakers I chose you for my partner—and my future father-in-law. You—the most weak-kneed man in Lokris."

I–I— It wasn’t my fault. It came out almost as a whimper.

Oath breaker! You’ve betrayed me. Spittle flew from Klonios’ mouth. "You knew it could happen! I will have your daughter—with the goddess’s will or without it! And for the lying promise you gave me this day, I will destroy you!" He stood still, letting the words sink in. Then he upended the table and sent it crashing to the floor.

Thrasios’ eyes fell away. The wine—the amphorae are ready for you. He silently cursed the beseeching note in his voice. Ready to be shipped. Please, Zeus and Dionysus, god of the vine, he thought, I’ll be impoverished if he doesn’t take them.

I’ll send my men for the amphorae. Klonios turned and strode out. Thrasios stared after him, sick with dismay.

*****

Curse Thrasios! Curse the whole city of Naryx for this damnable yearly ritual! Klonios raged. As he went to the door, he viciously kicked at objects that lay in his way.

He came upon a slave carefully stacking piles of empty wineskins. He kicked the pile, scattering wineskins all over the warehouse floor. The slave looked at him