Medousa

By Michael F. Butchin

"Medousa" is a work of myth-based fantasy set in ancient Greece. It is a re-telling of the myth of Medousa from her own point of view, focusing on Medousa's struggles to find love and acceptance, and to retain the best parts of her humanity while living under a Goddess' curse. The book traces her life, from her childhood as a slave in Sparta, to her death at the hands of Perseus on a remote island at the end of the world. This book tells the story of who Medousa was, rather than the monster that she has been portrayed to be throughout written history. She was one of the most loathsome monsters of the ancient world. Feared by man, shunned by the Gods, with a visage so hideous, all living creatures who looked upon her turned to stone. Multitudes were slain at her hand until the hero Perseus finally killed her. Today, if we remember Medousa at all, we envision her as that monster. Very few remember what led to Medousa's transformation from one of the world's most beautiful women to one of the world's most terrifying monsters. Even fewer remember the girl she once was, or the woman she strove to be, even under Athena's curse. Who was Medousa? How did she become the creature so feared and reviled by mortals? Who was she before the curse of the Goddess fell upon her? Most people only remembered Ovid's tale of a vain young woman who was so proud of her beauty, and especially of her golden hair, that Athena herself punished her by making her a Gorgon. But in fact, Ovid does note that Medousa, a priestess of Athena, was raped by Poseidon, in Athena's temple. Medousa's story is an unjust and troubling tale that remains relevant today. How could Medousa herself be punished for being the victim of a violent crime because it somehow defiled Athena's temple? Why didn't Athena defend her priestess? Why didn't she bring complaint against Poseidon? Why did Medousa have to be destroyed because of what was done to her? Hadn't her rape been enough to suffer through, but then she had to be driven from mortal lands, a monster, living in lonely desolation? A woman is sexually assaulted, and she bears the stigma, while her attacker is protected. The woman is expected to take responsibility for protecting herself, but we do not teach our boys not to rape. Men with vast sexual experience, consensual and not, are respected, but women who even express interest in sex, are shamed. This issue transcends mythical stories, as it bares relevancy in the world today. In America, a girl is raped, but the boy goes free because "he just made a mistake" or "we don't want to ruin his entire life over one moment of poor judgement." In central and south Asia, a woman is raped, and then she herself is punished for bringing "dishonor" upon her family, while her attackers go free. We have pity for the men, unwilling to see their lives ruined by their own actions; but we have none for their victims, the women whose lives have in fact been destroyed by them. And when those women dare cry out for justice, they are met with incredulity, and threats of murder and rape. Every time a woman is attacked, she must carry the blame and guilt. Every time a woman is cast out of her community for being who and what she is, through no fault of her own, Medousa's story continues. This book tells that story, and it allows us to truly understand Medousa the victim, not the monster.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736323823

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Epikoros Publishing

www.epikorospublishing.com

Copyright © 2019 by Michael F. Butchin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed Attention: Permissions at [e-mail].

Ordering Information: For details, contact:

[e-mail]

Frontispiece artwork by Symeona Kanellou

Second Edition, January 2021

ISBN: 978-1-73-632382-3

CONTENTS

Preface to the Second Edition

PART I: SPARTA

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

PART II: ATHENS

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

PART III: APOTHEOSIS

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

PART IV: EXILE

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

PART V: HEALING

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

PART VI: RECOVERY

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

PART VII: LEGEND

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

PART VIII: LOSS

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

PART IX: PAIN

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

PART X: DEATH

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

PART XI: EPILOGUE

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Afterword

Preface to the Second Edition

Stories are living things. They grow and change over time. They evolve. Like any other life form, stories are subject to descent with modification through natural selection, the environment in which they live applying the pressure for selection. For stories, that environment is the culture in which they arise and develop. They either adapt and evolve, or they die.

The presence of the Gorgons in human culture can be reliably traced back to almost 1200 BCE, and some archaeologists speculate that the idea of the Gorgon originated some six thousand years ago, based on Neolithic artwork in the form of ceramic masks, and Gorgoneion painted on terra cotta vessels.

Early traditions depict the Gorgons with large, round heads, huge, glaring eyes, bared teeth featuring boar’s tusks, and rough, wild hair, intertwined with snakes. They were said to have had scaly skin, brazen talons on their hands, and wings. In addition to serpents, the Gorgons were also associated with lionesses and sphinxes. Some of the oldest legends describe them as having been protectors of oracles.

This depiction of the Gorgons was taken up in later myth in which the Gorgons were said to be the daughters of the primordial sea deities Phorkys and Keto.

Homer speaks only of one Gorgon. In the Iliad, it is only the head of the monster, fixed upon Athena’s Aegis. In the Odyssey, it was a monster of the underworld.

Later, Hesiod cast the Gorgons as oceanic demons, and increases their number from one to three, naming them as Sthenno, Euryale, and Medousa. He describes them as the daughters of Phorkys and Keto, and notes Medousa as their only mortal offspring.

Attic tradition regarded the Gorgon as a primordial monster birthed by Gaia in order to aid the Titans in their war against the Olympians. Athena is said to have slain it and worn its skin thereafter, echoing some of the stories of Athena and the giant Pallas.

Much later, the stories told that the Gorgons did not merely have serpents in their hair, but that their hair was entirely comprised of serpents. And later again, the stories gave the Gorgons the ability to petrify those who looked upon their faces. And still later, the power to petrify was transferred to meeting the eyes of the Gorgon. And again, over time, that power went from involuntary to voluntary.

Ovid notes in his stories, that only Medousa had snakes for hair, because of Athena’s curse. And Virgil says that the Gorgons lived in the entry way to the Underworld. Diodorus and Palaephatus say that they lived in the Gorgades, in the Aethiopian sea, while Henry Riley believed the islands of the Gorgades corresponded to Cape Verde.

Pseudo-Hyginus writes of the Gorgon Aix as a daughter of Helios, killed by Zeus, and of whose hide and visage, he created the Aegis, which he then gave to Athena. And a primeval Gorgon was sometimes said to have been the father of Sthenno, Euryale, and Medousa, instead of Phorkys.

While the Gorgons had always been portrayed as monstrous in form, they began to change in the 4th century BCE when Pindar wrote of fair-cheeked Medousa, making her a beautiful seductress (albeit with snakes for hair) rather than an ugly monster.

Even down to our day, Medousa’s story continues to change and develop. Today, our image of the Gorgon has been re-molded yet again by Ray Harryhausen’s magnificent portrayal of Medousa in 1981’s Clash of the Titans. His changes — the upper body of the hideous woman, snakes entwined in coarse, wild hair, attached to the body of a huge snake — made Medousa appear even more terrifying, and less human.

And now, here is my Medousa. I added much to the story of Medousa. I changed much, but as with evolution, the changes and additions that evolved in my Medousa have their roots in the older stories. Why did I change the story of Medousa?

Why do stories change?

Stories change as we need them to. They change to become what we need at a particular moment in our culture. If they don’t, they fade away and die. To continue with my idiom from the beginning of this preface, they change, or they go extinct.

In the beginning, Gorgons were not particularly distinguishable from depictions of the Erinyes, or the Harpies. And they were apotropaic minor deities, defending the holy sites of oracles from desecration and evil spirits.

Later on, the Gorgons became fearsome demons, narrative devices for a hero’s journey.

Still later, Medousa herself became an object lesson in hubris.

And as time passed, she became a tragic heroine.

And, as we know, the Gorgon’s appearance has evolved over time, from nothing but a visage, to winged sea-demon, to a serpent-haired seductress, to a half-snake, half-woman monster. The Gorgon even changed in number. And their powers changed over time as well.

There is even a story floating about now claiming that Athena, far from punishing Medousa, in fact gave her a power to protect herself from the male gaze.

In every age, Medousa becomes what we need her to become. Why has my story changed? To bring Medousa’s story into sharper focus. To amplify Euryale’s bellow against those who would stop their ears against cries of injustice. To kindle Sthenno’s fire in hearts grown cold or indifferent.

Michael F. Butchin

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Chapter One

The old man’s sons lay dead at his feet. He would be next, followed swiftly by his wife and young daughter. But he would sell his family dearly. He stared down the group of malignant youngsters, all children of noble houses. It was the time of the Krypteia. There was no escape.

The youths taunted the old man over his sons.

Old? He was only ten or fifteen years their senior. His sons had fought well, the Spartans only killing them after having themselves collected fearsome wounds. And now, as the youngsters cheered, laughing, it was the father’s turn.

His wife and daughter cowered behind him in the doorway of their home. The little girl, no more than five years of age, stood, terrified, peeping out from behind her mother’s skirts. She kept looking toward her brothers as they lay in the dust. Why wouldn’t they get up? The sounds of fighting reached them from all quarters of the village, thickening the air with fear. So much blood, soaking the ground, the sweet, metallic tang in her nostrils. She looked up at her mother. She was also shaking, and could not tear her eyes away from Papa. Why wouldn’t her brothers get up? They looked like the chickens or pigs that Papa would occasionally slaughter for food. Were her brothers going to be food? She wailed in fear, feeling her mother shivering as much as she.

One of the teenagers, smiling with glee and menace, moved toward the man, thrusting at him with his xiphos as his fellows closed in. The man quickly stepped aside, outside the youngster’s lunge, and grabbed his sword wrist, turning himself to face the boys coming at him from behind. He sharply struck his first attacker with his elbow as he twisted the wrist, disarming the boy. He stepped to the side, retrieving the fallen blade, pulling the boy along as a shield, hearing him grunt as his fellows mistakenly stabbed their daggers into their comrade.

The boy fell. One down, the man thought.

He turned, blade now in hand, facing the attackers, and ready to open their bellies. But they were faster. One of the assailants brought up his knife en passant, cutting through the tendon of the old man’s upper thigh. He fell heavily. The boys mocked the old Helot as they moved in to finish him off.

"Papa…? PAPA!" Was he going to be dead, too? Like Pallas and Athenades?

The youths turned as they heard the little girl’s cry.

The woman, behind whom the child was trying to hide, screamed. She snatched up a fallen dagger, and leapt at them. Her daughter, wide-eyed with terror, stood just behind the doorposts of their house.

She wailed for her parents, calling for her mother to come back.

The woman reached her first target, slashing an ugly wound across his chest. Spinning quickly, she opened a gash in a second fellow’s thigh.

Far from being frightened, the boys laughed anew. They closed in about her and overwhelmed her quickly, throwing her roughly to the ground. Before she could regain her breath, they tore at her clothing, stripping her naked, while continuing to punch and kick her. The girl child, crying pitiably for her mother, stood frozen by the house’s entrance, too terrified to move. Her legs trembled between paralysis and flight, wanting to run to her mother, to bring her back into the house.

MAMA! MAMA! COME BACK!

What she saw next, she would never forget, for her mother did not die quickly.

… Mama…?

She tried to look away, to pretend this wasn’t happening. But she could not.

Only when the young men had finished with the woman did they cut her throat.

The girl howled in despair, calling out for her family.

The young men next turned their attention to the screaming child, and made to kill her as well. But their leader stayed their hand.

No. Take her back with us.

The child saw the Spartans come for her. She fled into the house, frantically looking for a safe place to hide. She ran to the room she shared with her mother and father, and grabbed her beloved Alala, her stuffed wolf-cub. She remembered when her father had brought home the scraps of fine skins and linens, and her mother had then sewn the little puppy for her, to protect her from the shadows at night, and her brothers had helped her name it. And now, Alala was all she had left.

The little girl tried to hide, but one of the young men found her, and caught her. She struggled mightily, shrieking for her parents, still clutching her stuffed wolf-cub. She desperately cast her eyes back to her family, now lying still and bloodied on the ground. If only she could rouse them!

Please get up! Oh, please get up! DON’T LET THEM TAKE ME AWAY!

The man carrying her readjusted his grip on her, clamping a blood-soaked hand over her mouth, to silence the child. Her mother’s blood. The smell filled her head. She gripped Alala even more fiercely, knowing that her little wolf-cub was now the only one left to protect her.

***

The child stood in a receiving hall, hard by the kitchens in a grand house. She had only the clothes she had been wearing, and her stuffed cub, Alala. Her eyes were large and red from crying. She stood shivering. Several tall, severe ladies stood clustered around her, appraising her value as livestock.

The young men that brought her say her family were all good fighters, one of the women was saying. Her father actually killed one of our lads, and her mother leapt upon them when her man fell.

The speaker, an old woman called Megaera, unceremoniously turned the child this way and that, looking at her frame. Hmph. She’s good-looking, and sturdy. She ought to do well enough as a kitchen slave.

Actually, she’s of the right age. We might want to make her a personal slave to the young mistress when she begins her agoge, another woman said.

But what shall we do with her until then, Maia? Megaera asked. She’s a bit young yet to be of much use to—

We’ll think of something, a third woman interrupted. But it’s a good idea. She’ll be my daughter’s handmaid.

Eupoleia and her slaves stood round the shaking girl. What is your name, child? she asked.

The girl was too frightened to speak until one of the servant women cuffed her sharply.

The Queen has deigned to ask you a question, wretched thing, Megaera said. Answer her.

Crying, the girl tried to speak. The old woman raised her hand again, causing the child to flinch.

Maia interrupted. Oh, leave it alone, Megaera. She’s a slave. We’ll give her a name.

Medousa, came the tiny, frightened whimper. They turned again to look at her.

Megaera reached out and roughly tousled the child’s hair. "What about Chrysanthe?" she offered. It fits her hair.

General nods of approval.

Ugh! And what is that thing she’s clutching? Megaera noted with disgust. She tried to snatch the toy from the child’s grasp, but Medousa twisted away, holding her little stuffed cub tightly to her. Megaera was not pleased, especially as the other ladies were so obviously suppressing their laughter at the old woman’s failure to simply grab the child’s toy. Even the great lady of the house was amused. Medousa was terrified of losing her last remaining friend and protector. She whined in fear.

Rebellious thing! Megaera yelled at the child. Well, we’ll soon have you trained out of that!

Again, Medousa was struck. She fell from the force of the blow, and her toy went skittering across the floor.

Alala! Medousa cried, and went to chase after it. But strong arms held her back, dragging her to her feet.

Alala! she cried again, kicking and squirming in panic as Megaera held her.

Oh, throw that rag in the fire, the old woman said, striking the girl again.

Medousa wept, incoherent with grief.

No! No! Not Alala, too! Mama made her for me! She sleeps with me at night! She’s mine!

But before any of the women could take Alala, another little girl toddled in, attracted perhaps by the commotion. She saw the toy wolf cub on the floor and grabbed it up, giggling. Puppy! she declared, as Medousa sobbed.

Oh! Eupoleia cried. Sweetie, don’t touch that filthy thing! She tried to take it from the little girl, but the other young child ran about the room, evading the Queen. Still laughing, she ran out of the room as the Queen chased after her.

Medousa watched them leave, her tears flowing unchecked. "Alala…" she moaned.

Silence! barked the chief servant-woman. Enough playing. Take this child and bathe and dress it. Her training will begin tomorrow.

***

It was a terrified and heartsick little girl who was put down to sleep on a small cot in the servants’ wing of the palace. Medousa turned her face to the wall and wept quietly so as not to bring attention to herself. She sobbed deep, heaving sobs that shook her little body. She trembled with the effort of trying to remain silent. She was afraid of attracting anyone’s notice, but her pain and her grief were too great.

What’s going to happen to me? I want Mama! I want Papa! I want my brothers!

After passing long minutes weeping, she noticed a presence behind her at the side of the cot. She turned with a start and stared numbly at another little girl, perhaps two years younger than herself, with black hair and twinkling brown eyes that shone like polished agates. Medousa recognized her as the girl that she’d seen run off with her cub that morning.

For a while, the two girls simply stared at each other, saying nothing, Medousa sniffling. All of a sudden, the brown-eyed girl held out something to her.

Medousa’s eyes went wide. Alala! she cried, and grabbed the stuffed wolf cub to her breast, hugging it tightly. The little girl watched her. Medousa squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in her puppy’s familiar scent. She opened a wary eye toward her little benefactor.

"Is this your puppy?" the other girl asked.

Medousa nodded, clutching it in her arms.

I have a puppy, too! she said proudly. She brought out her own stuffed animal, sitting it on the cot by Medousa, as if to play. What’s your name? she asked.

Medousa.

What’s your puppy’s name?

Alala.

The little girl giggled. Alala! she repeated. She jogged her own toy. This is Alexina, she said.

What’s your name? Medousa asked.

Cynisca, said her new acquaintance. I’m a puppy, too! Cynisca climbed onto the cot with her own wolf cub to play with Medousa, whose tears continued to flow.

Why are you crying? Cynisca asked.

I want my Mama… and I want my Papa… and I want my brothers… Medousa bleated through her sobs.

Where are they? came the innocent question.

Medousa couldn’t make herself speak. Her throat burned, and she simply shook her head, her face ugly with fear and grief. "No, she whimpered. No… no… no… no…"

Cynisca’s little brow creased with concern. Don’t be sad, she said. I can be your friend! See? I have a puppy, too! We can play! She made to hug Medousa, but before she could, a woman’s voice startled both girls.

Cynisca! What do you think you’re doing?

Medousa started to cry again, and Cynisca turned to see her nurse, Maia, standing over them. Cynisca backed up against Medousa on the cot, and looked up in surprise at her nurse. Alexina wanted to play with Alala! she protested.

You should be in bed, Young Mistress, Maia scolded Cynisca, lifting her out of the cot and putting her down. She then turned her attention to Medousa. "And as for you…"

Medousa curled up, shivering in fear, clutching her doll to herself so tightly that her arms ached.

The nurse’s stern visage softened. Come along, she said. She laid Medousa down and drew the blanket over her. Then she took Cynisca by the hand, and bent close to Medousa’s bedside. In the morning, Alala can go spend the day with Alexina. Now go to sleep.

Medousa watched as the nurse carried Cynisca and her doll out of the room. Then she hugged Alala tightly and quietly cried herself to sleep.

***

Medousa’s early days in the House of Archidamus were difficult. Beatings at the hands of old Megaera taught her swift obedience, and how to hide her tears. She learned to respond when ‘Chrysanthe’ was called, though she refused to forget who she really was. Her nascent friendship with Cynisca and the kindness of Maia, Cynisca’s nurse, kept her from despair. But it was a hard, bitter life for a little girl. She often had nightmares, forced again and again by the Oneiroi to watch her family die and her home burn.

Her time was spent helping the kitchen staff with shopping, fetching water, and cleaning. In the evenings, Cynisca would sneak into the servants’ wing with Alala and Alexina, and play with Medousa until Maia found her missing and came to get her.

As Medousa became more adept at her duties, she was assigned more and more to the nursery wing, helping to take care of the work in Cynisca’s rooms and in the rooms of Cynisca’s elder brother Agesilaus. The arrangement pleased Cynisca well enough, for she now had an obligatory playmate at her disposal. And she took full advantage of her new playmate-slave’s presence.

***

One day, Cynisca was playing ball in the paddock with her friends Helen and Khalkiope.

Keep it bouncing! Keep it bouncing!

Their laughter could be heard all the way to the main house as the young children scampered up and down, trying to keep the ball going.

Medousa was walking along across the courtyard past the stables toward the house. She was carrying a load of firewood on her back, running between the woodcutters in the fields and the kitchens. By now, she had been in service to the House of Archidamus for a little more than nine months. She paused, as she passed the horse paddocks, looking longingly at the three other girls playing. Medousa brushed away a tear, remembering playing with her own brothers once, not so long ago.

After a few moments, they noticed Medousa watching them. Helen missed the ball, as it got away from them, rolling in Medousa’s direction. They laughed and ran toward her.

What are you doing?

I have to take this wood to the kitchen.

Nope! Cynisca shouted. You have to play with us! She pulled Medousa’s burden from her back, dropped it to the ground, and took her by the hand.

This is my slave. Chrysanthe, she told her friends. But her name is really Medousa. Then, turning to Medousa, she said, This is Helen. She’s my best friend. And this is Khalkiope. She’s my best friend, too. So you have to be their slave, too.

Helen approached, looking curiously at Medousa, who stood, eyes downcast. She has hair like mine, she said.

Come on! Khalkiope shouted. Let’s play! We can have two teams, now!

Medousa was painfully shy at first, and afraid. But the other girls shouted encouragement to her, and took time to teach her how to play their game.

Medousa was wary, as these other children seemed to be treating her kindly, and not like the older slaves in the house that she usually dealt with.

At first, the game made Medousa sorrowful almost to the point of weeping; she wished desperately to be playing with her brothers Pallas and Athenades, instead of these strangers. But Cynisca’s earnestness, and Helen’s gentleness, gradually won her over, if only for the moment. Medousa decided to take the chance to run and play with the same abandon her new friends displayed. Soon, she was running back and forth with the three girls, laughing and squealing at their game. It was the first time Medousa had smiled in almost a year. Medousa and Helen played on one side, and Cynisca played with Khalkiope on the other.

They were having a wonderful time, and then Medousa jumped, badly startled, as they heard Megaera’s piercing bellow.

Chrysanthe!

The shout was followed by a crack that spun Medousa around and sent her sprawling.

What do you think you’re doing? the old woman thundered. She stood over the cowering girl and struck her again with a stick of wood from Medousa’s discarded bundle. Have you finished your duties for the day?

Medousa bit back her tears. No, ma’am.

Megaera roughly yanked her to her feet. Pick up that firewood, girl. Now.

Cynisca and her friends were also startled, and frightened, at Megaera’s violent interruption of their game. They stood dumbly as they watched Medousa collecting her load of wood again. After a moment, Cynisca came running over.

No! she told Megaera. "We’re playing! Medousa’s my slave! Mommy and Nurse say so!"

Megaera gave Medousa a hard shove in the direction of the kitchens and turned to Cynisca. She regarded her with a mixture of respect for her position, and disdain for her age.

"Her name is Chrysanthe, Young Mistress. And she has duties to perform. Play with your friends."

But—

"No buts, Mistress. It’s bad for discipline."

She turned to follow Medousa into the house, when she felt something hit her in the back, squarely between her shoulders. From the smell, Megaera realized with disgust that it was a horse turd. She whirled around on the children.

"Chrysanthe’s my slave, not yours! And I’ll call her Medousa if I want!" Cynisca shouted at the old chief servant.

Helen and Khalkiope held their breath in fear, as Cynisca stood, scowling up at Megaera, hands on hips, arms akimbo.

Megaera stared at her coldly, fists clenching. Then she turned and stalked into the house, following Medousa.

That night, when Cynisca snuck into Medousa’s cot, she found her Helot red-eyed and sniffling quietly. She handed Alala to her as she climbed up on the bed.

You okay? Cynisca asked.

Medousa nodded.

Did Megaera beat you?

Medousa nodded again.

I hate Megaera, Cynisca grumbled. We were having fun.

The girls were silent for a while. Then, Cynisca leaned over to Medousa and whispered, I threw poop at her!

The two dissolved into giggles, and played quietly until Maia came looking for Cynisca.

Come along, you two, Maia said breezily. Time for sleep—

Maia pulled up short as she saw Medousa. Her brow wrinkled with concern. Oh, dear, she breathed. She reached out and lifted Medousa’s tunic, revealing angry red welts covering much of her body. Some of them had even trickled blood. Medousa winced, but said nothing. Oh, you poor thing, Maia said, sitting on the edge of the cot next to the children. Was it Megaera? she asked. Medousa nodded.

I don’t like her, Cynisca declared. She wouldn’t let us play.

Maia sighed. Wait here. I’ll get some medicine. She left, leaving the girls alone again.

I wanna see, Cynisca said, pulling up Medousa’s tunic again. She wrinkled her nose. "Ewwwww! she said. She reached out and touched one of the wounds, making Medousa twitch. Here. Mommy does this, Cynisca told her, as she leaned in and kissed some of Medousa’s abrasions. There. All better now?"

Medousa winced again, but smiled and nodded. Yes, thank you.

Maia soon returned with a small basin of water, a cloth, and a jar of medicinal oil. She ordered Medousa to stand, and she sat on the cot again, facing her. Maia took Medousa’s clothes off and gently washed her cuts and bruises, and then, after patting her dry, began to apply the medicine to her welts.

Did you cry? Maia asked as she worked.

No, Medousa said, even as she flinched again when the nurse touched her injuries.

Good, Maia said. Don’t. Don’t give her the pleasure of hearing you cry, she told her. You’re a strong Lakedaimonian girl.

Eventually, Maia finished tending Medousa’s wounds and put a clean tunic on her. Cynisca hugged her, and then Medousa was left to sleep for the night.

***

The months drifted by, painfully slowly. Medousa gradually became more and more acclimated to her situation. But she didn’t like it. It was always, Run here. Go there. Do this. No, not like that. Like this! Every grownup in the palace seemed to have nothing better to do than to order her around, making her work until she was exhausted. Medousa still wanted to run and play with her brothers, like other children got to do. She wanted to meet her father at the door when he would return from the fields, and he would pick her up and dance her around the room before going to kiss Mama. She missed following her mother around the house, watching how she cooked, cleaned, and mended, and sometimes even getting to help. The work here wasn’t all that different, but there was so much more of it, and it wasn’t in her home, and no one ever petted or praised her for helping, or gave her an extra bit of fruit if she did a very good job…

There was only endless drudgery, seasoned with old Megaera’s eternal foul mood, and the beatings the old harridan seemed to enjoy inflicting.

***

Medousa awoke from yet another nightmare, keening softly, and whimpering for her mother. She hugged Alala as she tried to stop her tears, unsuccessfully. A voice by her ear startled her.

Why are you crying again?

Medousa turned her face away from the wall and saw Cynisca sitting in the cot next to her, Alexina in her arms.

Medousa tried to answer through her sobs. I want my mama, she wept.

Where is your mommy? Cynisca asked.

Medousa could only shake her head, eyes wide with unforgotten horror, and red from crying.

Cynisca thought for a moment.

"We can share my mommy!" she offered.

Medousa tried to stop her trembling. Cynisca, cuddling her own stuffed puppy, laid down beside Medousa, pulled the coverlets up, and went to sleep. Medousa stared at her for a while, holding Alala close. Then, she laid down next to Cynisca and tried to pretend she was sleeping by one of her brothers as she drifted off…

Maia found Cynisca sleeping with Medousa again, in the young slave’s cot. This was becoming as much of a habit as Cynisca’s pre-bedtime play sessions that began a year ago. She heaved an exasperated sigh, and was about to lift Cynisca out and take her back to her own room, but paused. She gazed with sympathy upon Chrysanthe, huddled up to Cynisca, hugging her wolf-cub. She remembered when she herself was sold to this House, far from her own home, her own children lost to her, long ago.

Let them sleep, she told herself. Let them sleep. What harm can it do?

Of course, it wouldn’t do to have the young mistress sleeping in the servants’ quarters. Maia considered moving Medousa’s cot closer to the nursery. Or even to a separate room within the nursery. That way, Maia would be able to more effectively keep watch over Cynisca. She thought about consulting Megaera, but then dismissed the idea. She knew the old chief servant would reject such a ridiculous notion out of hand.

Perhaps if she simply did it, without asking or telling anyone, no one would notice. What did it matter where a Helot slept, after all? No one had to be made aware; as far as anyone else in the House knew, Chrysanthe would still be in the servants’ dormitories. No one but Cynisca really paid attention to her when she was off duty, anyway.

***

I don’t like it, Eupoleia said. Cynisca should play more with children of her own station. She’s not an Athenian female, to have no other confidantes but her own servants.

Maia shrugged, and the Helot in charge of the household servants scowled in annoyance. But there’s no harm in it, Lady, the nurse said. She’ll make a loyal servant to your daughter for her period of agoge.

The Queen sniffed at the thought. I suppose. But Megaera also informs me that she’s gaining the affections of Agesilaus, too.

He will be leaving for the barracks for his agoge within the year.

Megaera snorted. A son of the Eurypontids? The barracks are for the common citizens. Not kings. He should be schooled at home, like his brother Agis.

But Agesilaus will never be King, and he does so want to go with his friends, the nurse interceded. It can do no harm for him to undergo his schooling under the same conditions as any other citizen. And his father insists he be treated no differently than any other citizen.

Megaera sighed. We were discussing the disposition of Chrysanthe. She is becoming too familiar with the Mistress’ children.

The Queen paused to consider. Megaera, keep that child occupied as you see fit, until we send her with Cynisca for her schooling.

Megaera smiled humorlessly. It certainly won’t hurt to get some more work out of her. And the time apart should cool their friendship.

Maia fidgeted, uncomfortable. She seemed about to speak, but Megaera, noticing, spoke first.

You’re too soft-hearted, Maia. You’ll only make them weak.

The following day, after returning from an errand with one of the kitchen slaves to make some purchases at market, Medousa was brought to a room that she hadn’t been in before. Megaera dragged her along, purposely walking just a little too quickly for the young child’s legs to keep up. Megaera seemed to delight in finding things to be cross about. She shoved Medousa into the chamber ahead of her.

There were several warp-weighted looms up against the walls, and in the middle of the room were tables covered with spindles, distaffs, cloth, and thread.

Theisis! Megaera barked peremptorily. The mistress wants this one to weave. Teach her. She pushed Medousa toward the tall, spare woman who seemed to be in charge of the weavers.

Theisis eyed the girl with tired interest. A bit small to use the looms just yet, ma’am, she drawled.

Oh, I don’t care, Megaera replied, clearly at the end of what meager stores of patience she possessed. Start her off at spinning, then. Her name is Chrysanthe. She abruptly turned and left.

Withered old bitch, Theisis muttered under her breath as Megaera retreated back down the hall. Medousa looked up at her, shocked. Noticing her, the woman smiled and beckoned her to come closer. Come here, Chrysanthe. I’ll show you how to spin.

Over the next several weeks, Medousa saw little of Cynisca, except near bedtime, when Cynisca would visit her, bringing Alala and Alexina to play. Medousa’s days were now taken up with spinning and weaving, in addition to her normal duties.

***

As Medousa spun, Theisis would wander around the room, inspecting the work being done on the looms. After she had been spinning for several months, Theisis called Medousa over to one of the looms. Let’s see how you do here, she said. It was a tall warp-weighted loom, on which someone had been working for quite some time. There was a piece of fine linen on it, and it was woven down to a level that Medousa could easily reach up to handle.

Now just watch closely, Chrysanthe. I’ll show you how it’s done.

Theisis spent the next hour explaining to her charge the working of the shuttle and threads, and took care to demonstrate the proper technique.

We’ll see how you do with this. You’re going to finish this down to the floor, you see?

It was difficult at first, but, in time, Medousa became an able weaver under Theisis’ guidance.

Medousa came to enjoy working with the weavers, mainly because it meant less time working under the baleful eye of old Megaera. But she did miss having time to spend with Cynisca and her friends.

One day, Theisis had to leave the room on a brief errand. She left Medousa and the other weavers working busily at their looms. By now, Medousa was good enough that Theisis was having her weave entire garments on her own. She had assigned Medousa to one of the smaller half-sized looms that she could use without difficulty. As Medousa worked on a fine white chiton, she sensed a presence behind her. Expecting that Theisis had returned, she turned and looked up to greet her. But it wasn’t Theisis.

The woman who now stood behind Medousa was quite tall, and had flowing, dark hair. She couldn’t be called beautiful, in the usual sense, but she had an exquisitely handsome face. She had been quietly observing the young slave at work. Medousa could not remember ever seeing her before. She was sure she would have remembered so striking a woman amongst the slaves and Helots of the house.

Hallo, ma’am, Medousa chirped nervously, attempting a polite greeting.

The woman smiled warmly, and knelt down by Medousa’s side. Hello, Medousa, she said. Medousa’s mouth dropped open as the tall lady turned and examined the chiton Medousa was working on. No one here ever used, or even knew, the name her mother had given her.

The smiling woman touched the cloth on the loom, feeling its fineness and resilience, and studied it for any imperfections. She turned back to Medousa, still smiling, her large, grey eyes twinkling at the little girl. She seemed to be examining Medousa in almost the same way she had examined the garment.

Medousa glanced around nervously. No one else in the room appeared to notice this person. The other workers carried on weaving and spinning as if this stranger were not even there. Who was she? Why did no one else see this woman? Gradually, Medousa’s eyes were drawn back to the woman’s face. She felt oddly comforted by her presence, but couldn’t understand why. She felt that she ought to be scared. Medousa felt safe by her side. Protected. She thought she could smell olives, and pomegranates, and honey.

The strange woman smiled again at the child, her grey eyes practically glowing. Medousa felt like a small bird locking eyes with a serpent. The woman reached out and gently smoothed Medousa’s hair, just as her mother used to do.

Was this a dream? Medousa remembered that her mother had had soft grey eyes, like the stranger; only the stranger’s eyes were hard, and penetrating. Was this Mama returned from death? Would she take her home again to Papa and her brothers?

Medousa was excited by that thought. She gazed rapturously into the woman’s face, hopeful.

Mama…?

The tall woman continued to smile lovingly at the child. She gently stroked Medousa’s cheek.

I shall be watching you, Little One, she said softly. And then she was gone.

Medousa was both heartbroken and comforted.

And from that day on, Medousa began to notice this tall handsome woman about the house and fields. Usually at a distance, at the very edges of her perception. But whenever Medousa noticed her, she seemed to have her eyes on her. She became a friendly presence in the background of Medousa’s life.

***

Medousa had been out that morning with Theisis to market. They had gone to buy silks and linens for the household, and they came home weighted down with several skeins of thread for the looms.

As they approached the house, Cynisca, Agesilaus, and some of their friends were playing ostrakinda. Helen, her sister Clytemnestra, and their brothers Castor and Polydeuces, were running back and forth, shouting and laughing.

They had split into teams, boys versus girls, and the girls had apparently won the current round; the boys were running around, carrying their sisters on their backs, the girls shouting with delight. As they returned to their starting line, they tossed a shell that was light on one side, and dark on the other, and started calling out "Day!" or "Night!" This time, the boys won the toss, and gave chase to the girls.

Medousa looked on enviously and sighed as she approached the house with Theisis. Theisis paused in her step, and gazed at the playing children with Medousa. She glanced down at the young slave, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Medousa looked up to see Theisis’ face, a weary smile gracing her mouth.

They’re having fun, eh Chrysanthe?

Medousa returned her smile with sad eyes and nodded. I wish my brothers were here so I could play with them sometimes.

Come on, Theisis said, awkwardly ignoring Medousa’s complaint. Let’s get this material put away. Maybe we’ll be able to spare you early tonight.

Casting back a last look, Medousa saw the girls, laughing as they now carried the boys on their backs, back to the starting line. Then she followed Theisis into the house.

The sun was going down later that evening as Medousa went outside, having been dismissed by Theisis. She went over to the paddock by the stables, hoping to be able to join the other children in play. But the paddocks were empty, the children already gone by now. Medousa stood there, dejected.

She wandered around aimlessly, keeping out the way of the stable hands and grooms as they completed their work for the evening. Medousa came across a wooden hoop and idly began toying with it. She took it out and started rolling it around, trying to see how long she could keep it upright.

Chrysanthe! Race you?

Medousa turned. It was Agesilaus. She returned his smile. Okay!

She had some trouble at first, being unpracticed at rolling hoops, so Agesilaus showed Medousa how to properly roll a hoop for distance and speed. Once Medousa had a working understanding of the process, Agesilaus started rolling his own, by her side.

The two laughed as they started chasing their hoops, trying to keep up with them and keep them going.

As they played, Medousa noticed that despite his speed and dexterity, Agesilaus had a pronounced limp.

What happened to your leg? she asked him.

Agesilaus shrugged. I was born this way, he said. But I can still do anything anyone else can do! I bet I can still beat you in a race!

Bet you can’t! Medousa challenged, laughing. Agesilaus laughed with her, and they started their hoops rolling.

As they ran back toward the house chasing after them, Medousa abruptly pulled herself up short, her face going blank. Megaera was standing there, arms folded, watching them.

What’s the matter, Chrysanthe? Agesilaus asked. And then he, too, noticed Megaera.

I think I’ve got to go in, now, Medousa said flatly.

Aww, but we were playing…!

You can play with your own friends, young master, Megaera’s voice cut through the air. Chrysanthe. Go tend to your duties. If you haven’t got any, I’m sure I can think of something for you to do.

Medousa hurried to comply as Agesilaus whined.

Megaera waited until both children had gone in. Casually glancing around, she picked up one of the hoops the children had left behind. She gently rolled it back and forth for a moment, then dropped it.

Foolishness, she muttered to herself.

Then, she, too, went inside to tend to her evening duties.

***

When Medousa had been assigned extra duties, she naturally had less time to be with Cynisca. Cynisca, for her part, didn’t like it. Fortunately, no one but Maia had yet discovered their sleeping and pre-bedtime play arrangements.

Why aren’t you here so much anymore? Cynisca once asked Medousa, as they were settling in for sleep. Don’t you like me? She drew her face into a pout.

Medousa stared down, her stomach turning over with guilt. She tugged nervously at her hair.

I like you, Medousa said. But Megaera says I have to work at spinning and weaving, when I’m not working in the kitchen, or cleaning.

Cynisca snorted, annoyed. I hate Megaera, she declared, an increasingly common refrain. Why can’t she let us play?

Medousa stopped pulling her hair, and hugged Alala. She lay back on the pillow. I wish I could stay with you during the day. Everyone else is so mean to me.

Even Maia? Cynisca asked, surprised.

Medousa pondered briefly.

Well, no. Okay. Maia’s nice to me, too.

And Agesilaus?

He’s not mean to me, either.

And Helen? And Khalkiope? And Clytemnestra? And Castor, and Polydeuces?

But I don’t get to go out and play with your friends, Medousa protested.

Cynisca sniffed, diffident.

"Well, you’re supposed to be my slave. I want you to stay with me."

I wish I could, Medousa agreed. Then, in a much quieter voice, I wish I could go home, and Mama and Papa would be there, and I could play with Pallas and Athenades.

Cynisca looked up sharply. You want to leave? she asked, alarmed. Why do you want to go away?

Medousa sat up, trembling, fearful of having said the wrong thing. She fumbled over her words.

"But… you get to see your mother and father and brother all the time… She paused, half-dreaming. Maybe… maybe you could come with me?" she asked Cynisca, trying to placate her.

Cynisca smiled. Can I? she replied excitedly. Can I come visit where you live? And we can meet and play every day!

Medousa looked down, holding her stuffed puppy. I wish we could, she said forlornly.

Well, why can’t we? Cynisca demanded.

Medousa suddenly felt very cold. She hugged Alala tightly, squeezing her eyes shut. She began rocking back and forth.

My family is gone, she whispered. I don’t have a mommy or a daddy anymore. I won’t ever see them again. No more brothers. No more… Medousa trailed off, trying to control the tears that threatened to pour from her eyes.

Cynisca dropped Alexina on the pillow and hugged Medousa. Don’t cry, she said, trying to comfort her slave. "I told you before. We can share my mommy!"

***

Agis was King Archidamus’ eldest son by a previous marriage. He was the King’s favorite son, and was designated as the Eurypontids’ heir, in favor over Agesilaus. As such, he held a particularly privileged position in the household, and he often lorded it over his younger half-siblings. On this particular afternoon, Agis and some of his friends had surrounded Agesilaus in one of the palace courtyards, and were tormenting him without mercy.

Lame little fool, his elder half-brother called. You should’ve been exposed at birth!

Agesilaus stood in the middle of the small circle, stoically holding in his anger and tears.

The only ones who’ll play with you are your baby sister and her friends! No one would miss you!

They started pushing him around, shoving him down, then pulling him to his feet again, randomly hitting and kicking him.

Medousa had been bringing some skeins of material to the weaving room when she saw what was going on. Frightened, she thought about trying to help. On the other hand, as a slave, she couldn’t stand up to nobles of the house. She ran inside, forgetting for the moment her duties, and went to find Cynisca.

Cynisca! Cynisca! You have to come quickly!

The young princess looked up as Medousa rushed in. She scowled. "You’re not supposed to order me around," she chastised.

But, Cynisca! Agis and his friends are beating Agesilaus!

What? Come on! Show me!

Cynisca jumped up and followed her slave outside where Agesilaus was badly losing to his elder brother and his friends.

Without hesitation, Cynisca ran straight in, punching and kicking, and scratching and biting, standing by her brother. Though Cynisca fought fiercely, and though Agesilaus himself was capable enough despite his leg, the two were still getting the worst of it from the older children.

Medousa was now even more upset. She knew she couldn’t interfere, but she didn’t want to stand by doing nothing. She wanted to run and get Maia. But then, she’d probably get beaten for shirking her duties again.

After agonizing over it for a few seconds, she ran to find the nurse. She was terrified, the vicious circle surrounding her young mistress and her brother serving to stir up recent and unpleasant memories for Medousa.

By the time Maia came, the fight was already over. Agis and his friends were gone, and Cynisca and Agesilaus sat huddled together. They were covered in cuts and bruises, sniffling, but refusing to cry. They rose as Maia and Medousa approached.

What happened here? Maia asked.

Nothing… Agesilaus answered.

Maia raised an eyebrow and folded her arms. "Nothing?" she repeated.

The two remained silent. Maia sighed.

Come on, then, you two. Let’s get you cleaned up. Chrysanthe, you go back to your duties.

Maia led her charges away as Medousa returned to her own work.

***

Medousa ran back to the weaving room with the material she’d been sent to fetch.

Chrysanthe, Theisis greeted her as she entered. Where’ve you been? You were supposed to be here an hour ago.

Medousa cast her eyes down, fidgeting uncomfortably. Theisis smiled wanly.

Running out to play, were you?

Medousa shook her head. No, ma’am, she said, looking up.

Well, what, then?

I–I had to help Agesilaus.

Help him? What with?

Medousa blushed and told her. To her surprise, Theisis laughed.

Oh, they’re always torturing Agesilaus like that, she said. It’s because of his leg, of course.

But, he can still do everything everyone else can do, Medousa said meekly.

Well, yes, Theisis said. But it’s good for him. It’ll toughen him up.

Medousa said nothing, but frowned sadly.

Oh, don’t worry, Theisis told her. "I’m not Megaera. I won’t beat you for something like this. But you will make up the time, you understand."

Medousa looked up and smiled, and then returned to her work.

***

Months passed. One evening, Medousa sat with Cynisca and Agesilaus in the nursery. Medousa had been started on handmaiden duties to the young mistress, due in part to Maia’s influence. Eupoleia acquiesced since Cynisca would be starting her period of agoge soon, and would have need of her own handmaiden. Neither Eupoleia nor Archidamus were exactly pleased that Cynisca treated her slave as she did her friends. Nevertheless, they took comfort in the knowledge that at least such a relationship would, as Maia had once advised, ensure a loyal handmaiden for their daughter.

The girls sat playing at knucklebones, with their stuffed wolf puppies. Agesilaus sat a short distance away, spinning a top.

I wish you could come play with us all the time, Cynisca said.

Me, too, Medousa answered. I—

She can’t, cos Megaera says she’s just a Helot, and Chrysanthe shouldn’t be allowed to play with princes and princesses.

"Her name is Medousa, Cynisca told her brother. And she’s my Helot. Maia says so. So I can do whatever I want with her. And I want her to play with me, and Helen, and Clytemnestra, and Khalkiope, and—"

I don’t like Megaera, Medousa whispered, hugging her stuffed wolf cub. She’s always hitting me and yelling at me.

"She shouldn’t be allowed to beat you. You’re my slave, not hers."

I think she just likes being angry all the time, Medousa said.

Know what? Agesilaus declared, rising. Next week, I get to go start my agoge!

The two girls turned to him.

"When can I go?" Cynisca demanded.

When you’re seven, Agesilaus told her. You have to wait two whole years.

I’m taking Medousa with me when I go, Cynisca said.

You’ll probably have to kill Chrysanthe when you go to your agoge, Agesilaus said carelessly. He sat down with them to play knucklebones. The two girls started, alarmed. Medousa held back tears, as she looked from Cynisca to Agesilaus, panic rising up from her belly.

"Nuh-UH!" Cynisca shouted, jumping up. Who said so?

"They say so, her brother said. They say that when you finish school and you’re grown up, you have to go down the hill and kill Helots."

Cynisca flew at her brother, tumbling around fighting, while Medousa wept silently, hugging her stuffed wolf cub. Soon, the commotion brought Maia running in.

What’s going on here? she asked, surveying the scene.

Cynisca spoke up first. Agesilaus says I have to kill Medousa!

What?

It’s true, Agesilaus protested. Agis said so! He told me that at the end of your agoge, you have to go down the hill to kill Helots!

Maia raised an eyebrow.

It’s the Krypteia, Agesilaus explained. Agis says that if you don’t go down to kill Helots, you can’t get a good position in the polis when you grow up.

Medousa’s not down the hill! Cynisca shouted in response. She lives up here with us, so you can’t go kill her!

I think it’s past everyone’s bedtime, Maia decided. Come along.

She calmed the children, helped them to clean up, and then put them to bed.

No one’s gonna kill Medousa, Cynisca said petulantly as she was put down to sleep. I won’t let them.

Shh, Maia told her. Go to sleep.

She turned to Medousa, whose eyes dropped tears, despite a composed face. Come along, Chrysanthe. Bedtime for you, too.

She led the young Helot back to her own bed and tucked her in. Go to sleep, child, she whispered. No one is going to kill you.

Chapter Two

Eventually, a year and a half later, the days of Cynisca’s agoge came. Medousa was then officially assigned to her as her personal slave. When Medousa was told that she would be attending Cynisca during her official schooling, she was excited. She loved the idea of being out from under the drudgery of her regular housework. She loved the thought of being able to see more children her own age. And she loved the idea of being able to run and play with Cynisca without being punished for it. And as Medousa’s own duties changed as she began acting as Cynisca’s personal slave, it was just as pleasant as she’d dreamt. For a while.

***

The agoge was the period of training that all Greek youths had to undergo. In Sparta, their schooling comprised not only martial arts and athletics, but also music, dance, reading and writing, and a certain amount of mathematics and philosophy.

When a boy or girl reached the age of seven, they began their formal period of training and education. For the boys, it meant being sent off to live in barracks with their peers, to learn to live as a military unit while accomplishing their agoge. And while the girls were not sent away, their education was no less serious or rigorous. The children of nobles and other well-to-do citizens would often bring their own Helots and personal slaves with them, to attend upon them during their schooling. Those slaves who attended with their masters or mistresses were able to benefit from the same education and training as their owners. Any slave who actually completed the agoge could even be set free, though they could never be full citizens of Sparta.

While it was not at all unusual that Cynisca was allowed to take Medousa with her for her time of training, it was unusual that Agesilaus was sent off to the barracks for his period of agoge. Normally, sons of the royal houses were exempt from this requirement, and were educated at home. But in this case, King Archidamus was determined that his own children by Eupoleia would receive no special privileges. They would undergo their agoge like any other son or daughter of Sparta. He reserved the privilege of homeschooling for his first-born son, Agis.

The early days of their formal training concentrated at first on literacy and numeracy. It was boring, tedious work sometimes, but they had a kindly teacher who tried to make their studies as painless as possible. As they progressed over the years, they were introduced to poetry, and history and even philosophy. And of course, being Spartan, they studied the arts of war. Another focus of their early training was music and dance. This was immensely important to the Spartans, because music and dance were how they trained to move in unison when in phalanx formation. Timing and coordination were essential on the battlefield, and those attributes were admirably honed with these seemingly frivolous arts.

There were many other girls in the class, perhaps twelve or fifteen. And Cynisca, of course, already knew most of them, having been playmates with them for some years. They were all aristocrats of one or the other of Sparta’s two royal families, and a few other nobles. Some, like Helen, Clytemnestra, and Khalkiope, Medousa recognized. Many, she did not. Some had their own slaves with them, and some came alone. Medousa was nervous, but still glad to be out of the house and away from the supervision of old Megaera. Still, the senior household slaves and Helots made sure that Medousa remembered her place when at home.

Despite the fact that Medousa was now able to mingle with other young girls her age, she often felt just as lost and as lonely as ever. After all, she was still nothing but a Helot, and Cynisca and her friends were all Spartan nobles. At times like that, Medousa would remember the handsome lady with the grey eyes that had visited her in the weavers’ room. Sometimes she would notice her at the edges of her sight during the day, and sometimes she simply noticed that odd, comforting scent of olives, grapes, and pomegranates. She wasn’t sure why, but when she thought of that woman, she didn’t feel quite as small and vulnerable. Medousa would often watch for her.

As for their teachers, Thales of Miletus, an itinerant philosopher, was engaged to teach the children mathematics and science. He also introduced them to the writings of Parmenides of Elea.

Their music teacher was Thaletas of Crete. He taught the girls how to sing, and he taught them the lyre, the kithara, and the aolus and the syrinx. Medousa turned out to have some talent at singing, though Cynisca did not. The children were also taught the Pyrrhike, dances that mimicked the martial skills of armed and unarmed combat that they would very soon be learning. Thaletas also taught them extensively from the poems and lyric prose of Sappho and Alcaeus of Lesbos, teaching the girls how to compose poems and lyrics of their own.

Their head trainer in athletics and combat was none other than Chionis of Sparta. He was renowned for his records in the long jump and the triple jump at the Olympic Games. He also had won three consecutive titles in the Diaulos and the Sprint. In addition to his athletic achievements, he was a skilled fighter, and he would be teaching the girls running, wrestling, boxing, javelin, discus, and the use of various weapons.

Cynisca excelled at athletics and combat, and was a gifted equestrian. She loved these pursuits so, that she was often teased, the other girls calling her Amazon.

Reviews for Medousa

[lilyroseshadowlyn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I admit, I'm a sucker for a myth or fairy tale retelling done well, and this was a great read. Many people know the story of Medusa, but as it's said the victors write history, and this is a peek into the other side of the story. Medusa was once a girl with hopes and dreams and struggles all her own before being turned into a gorgon, and this is the engaging story of her life. Highly recommend for anyone who loves mythology and alternate tellings.