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If Athens has, from her patron goddess's bounty, yielded one piece of wisdom to Avishag of Gilit, it is the meaning of a party.
This is a modest home. It is a low stone affair that shares a courtyard with some half dozen other families, but it was built for a family. The family has deserted it. The head of the Moshe determined, long after subjecting his two boys and three girls to a tormented childhood of uncertainty whether he'd settle in Greece or Judea, that he was happiest with his third wife in Egypt. The two Judean girls had gone with him. If nothing else, he was a shrewd and bounteous merchant, and they knew their brothers could never scrape together good dowries for them. The Moshe's made it a dubious point of honor, almost an afterthought, to leave each of his remaining children something. Gilit of Moshe inherited his wagons and supplies. The Greek brother, Lander of Moshe, inherited this house to keep his mother and sister in until his mother remarried. She had, so normally the home was empty. Blankets dangled forlornly in the windows to keep out the dust and any light that might wash out the furniture inside. Clutter built up in the corners steadily as Lander dropped by with a guard's cat-like carelessness to sleep and eat there for an odd night. The gloom of that abandoned house didn't stick to Lander-- he was warmly welcomed by half the guard whenever he desired to stay, and more civilians still called him friend when he roved by on his rounds. That did not, however, prevent Visha from deciding that while she stayed there with Gilit it was her solemn duty to make sure that Lander's home was clean and that he repaid all his dear friends' hospitality seven times over.
Visha spent hours hauling buckets to the house, pouring the water out over the floors and working her hands raw rubbing either lye or a clean rag into them as Gilit and Lander flitted in and out on their business in the capital. Lander would often creep behind her, so close the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as he lifted the handle of each bucket she toiled with, and she would stubbornly try to go back to carry more until he beseeched her that he needed company while he walked. On a bad day Gilit would kvetch about how Lander didn't know how to make any friends of consequence, how childish these parties were, how expensive all the wine was. He would watch her sullenly at work he couldn't make her quit, limping around as his clenched muscles and jaws and fists ached. Visha felt that aching and his desire to pull her away to lick his wounds. Her cheeks burned because she knew he feared how she would embarrass him with her stupid shyness or her gauche Judean mannerisms. His stare seared her down to the marrow. But she would grit her teeth against the urge to coddle him and snap that she was more desolate with him than on her lonesome. On a good day he might laboriously drag water to the house or join her on the floor with a rag until he had spilled her over in a bedroom and his hands had smoothed open her thighs. He might surprise her by bringing meats and other treats from market that she would never dare splurge on. The rituals were all too quotidian, but when she finally filled Lander's ovens, pots, and fireplaces with the substance of her hands and the scent rolled up to fill the house with warmth and life Visha felt at home, the mistress of something holy the way she always had when she tended her father's tent.
That pride swells her veins to bursting now, as the moon leers through the night's fabric, the festivities draw to a close, and drunken guardsmen support one another merrily home.
She stands in front of those lavishly adorned platters she had hidden behind in the first half of the evening. The meats no longer salivate on their beds of herbs, having long ago congealed. The bread no longer steams, and it has gone stale at the crusts. The low wall between kitchen and foyer is littered with grape stems and crumbs. But Visha isn't pacing back and forth, heart clenching as she watches men put spoonfuls of stew to their lips and tries to read their expressions. She isn't monitoring the wine casks as each man ladles from them, fretting that she didn't fetch enough from the market and tending Gilit when he maunders nervously to her side to murmur in her ear about how strong willed Greek militants are these days and he envies Lander's easeful manners. No, by now she has pushed Gil back into the thick of it. By now Lander has taken her wrist and guided out to introduce her: 'You all remember Gil's wife. You can mock Yahweh all you like, but to make from the rib of a creature like we men of the Moshe a woman who could plan all this is a miracle like raising a city.'
She can hear Gilit's low voice honeyed with enthusiasm, an indistinguishable but pleasant hum wafting through the open windows from the courtyard. If she glances out, she can catch the harsh angles of his face illumed by a lantern between himself and an elder guardsman as they bend their heads together and commiserate with each other about the dying morals of their cultures and how they are exemplified by a recent hitch in the olive trade. Both men were long ago wearied by the festivities within the house. But she is cranes over Lander's shoulder. Her teeth flash as she surveys the squares he carved into his low table, and she moves a few of the pebbles he has scattered over the board. The painted stones pinch two other colors between them.
'Sorceress!' Comes the outraged cry, and Lander rises to clasp her to him by the shoulders, crooning over the din: 'O bless your blood, sister!' She can smell the wine on his breath and wryly pushes his ribs as she palms her cheek to shield her face.
'It's because you are all soaked with wine it's so easy to surprise you!'
'Us? Look, you've had no wine at all and you're pink!' a cragged, scarred guardsman reclining on the divan chuckles as he fans himself.
She feels heat flash over her face.
'If they continue to test us with tactical games at the academies, do you think women will soon join us with spear and shield?' Drawls the loser of the contest, scratching the slick hair on his chest away from his shining white skin. His robes are little too loose, and Visha is so intoxicated by their mirth that she has to resist the urge to pull his loose robes up over his nipple. She shifts another step from Lander to shake her head.
'Our Lord only calls upon us when our men have fallen so far we are lost. Lander and Gilit's generation is not so lost.'
'And here I thought you'd stopped being so serious, little Jew!'
'She never quits, by the gods,' Lander chuckles. 'But you are deep in your cups, Erethai. You said you must quit us after this game, but can you even stand? Here. You are on duty tomorrow morning, you poor bastard.' He wrestles Erethal briefly and it takes Visha a moment to remember to avert her eyes as she tidies some of the mess from empty platters to occupy herself. She only just hears Lander groan as he drags Erethal up and pinch another of his fellow guardsmen's cheeks.
'Leo. You're a dutiful Greek. Might be you're serious enough Visha can stand you. Help her tidy up and keep our beastly company from harrying her too bad while I'm gone, will you? Gilit's out there on a tangent and he may never come back to check on my poor siste-- OW, YOU DOG!'
He wheels around on the guard who's pinched his ass, and Erethal goes stumbling into the doorframe, rattling the wood half off its pins. The general din doesn't die down for the several minutes it takes the sloppy guards to push each other into the cool night air.
Once, Visha would have grimaced at the antics. But now her lips curl a little at the edges of her stern frown and her eyes melt warmly over the cups she stacks together. She feels she should thank the guardsman, Leo, who stayed behind. But when she opens her mouth she can't think for how to thank him appropriately, so she only pauses, hesitating with a stack of cups in each hand. When she speaks it's too abrupt by half:
'I don't need your help, sir.'
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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If Athens has, from her patron goddess's bounty, yielded one piece of wisdom to Avishag of Gilit, it is the meaning of a party.
This is a modest home. It is a low stone affair that shares a courtyard with some half dozen other families, but it was built for a family. The family has deserted it. The head of the Moshe determined, long after subjecting his two boys and three girls to a tormented childhood of uncertainty whether he'd settle in Greece or Judea, that he was happiest with his third wife in Egypt. The two Judean girls had gone with him. If nothing else, he was a shrewd and bounteous merchant, and they knew their brothers could never scrape together good dowries for them. The Moshe's made it a dubious point of honor, almost an afterthought, to leave each of his remaining children something. Gilit of Moshe inherited his wagons and supplies. The Greek brother, Lander of Moshe, inherited this house to keep his mother and sister in until his mother remarried. She had, so normally the home was empty. Blankets dangled forlornly in the windows to keep out the dust and any light that might wash out the furniture inside. Clutter built up in the corners steadily as Lander dropped by with a guard's cat-like carelessness to sleep and eat there for an odd night. The gloom of that abandoned house didn't stick to Lander-- he was warmly welcomed by half the guard whenever he desired to stay, and more civilians still called him friend when he roved by on his rounds. That did not, however, prevent Visha from deciding that while she stayed there with Gilit it was her solemn duty to make sure that Lander's home was clean and that he repaid all his dear friends' hospitality seven times over.
Visha spent hours hauling buckets to the house, pouring the water out over the floors and working her hands raw rubbing either lye or a clean rag into them as Gilit and Lander flitted in and out on their business in the capital. Lander would often creep behind her, so close the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as he lifted the handle of each bucket she toiled with, and she would stubbornly try to go back to carry more until he beseeched her that he needed company while he walked. On a bad day Gilit would kvetch about how Lander didn't know how to make any friends of consequence, how childish these parties were, how expensive all the wine was. He would watch her sullenly at work he couldn't make her quit, limping around as his clenched muscles and jaws and fists ached. Visha felt that aching and his desire to pull her away to lick his wounds. Her cheeks burned because she knew he feared how she would embarrass him with her stupid shyness or her gauche Judean mannerisms. His stare seared her down to the marrow. But she would grit her teeth against the urge to coddle him and snap that she was more desolate with him than on her lonesome. On a good day he might laboriously drag water to the house or join her on the floor with a rag until he had spilled her over in a bedroom and his hands had smoothed open her thighs. He might surprise her by bringing meats and other treats from market that she would never dare splurge on. The rituals were all too quotidian, but when she finally filled Lander's ovens, pots, and fireplaces with the substance of her hands and the scent rolled up to fill the house with warmth and life Visha felt at home, the mistress of something holy the way she always had when she tended her father's tent.
That pride swells her veins to bursting now, as the moon leers through the night's fabric, the festivities draw to a close, and drunken guardsmen support one another merrily home.
She stands in front of those lavishly adorned platters she had hidden behind in the first half of the evening. The meats no longer salivate on their beds of herbs, having long ago congealed. The bread no longer steams, and it has gone stale at the crusts. The low wall between kitchen and foyer is littered with grape stems and crumbs. But Visha isn't pacing back and forth, heart clenching as she watches men put spoonfuls of stew to their lips and tries to read their expressions. She isn't monitoring the wine casks as each man ladles from them, fretting that she didn't fetch enough from the market and tending Gilit when he maunders nervously to her side to murmur in her ear about how strong willed Greek militants are these days and he envies Lander's easeful manners. No, by now she has pushed Gil back into the thick of it. By now Lander has taken her wrist and guided out to introduce her: 'You all remember Gil's wife. You can mock Yahweh all you like, but to make from the rib of a creature like we men of the Moshe a woman who could plan all this is a miracle like raising a city.'
She can hear Gilit's low voice honeyed with enthusiasm, an indistinguishable but pleasant hum wafting through the open windows from the courtyard. If she glances out, she can catch the harsh angles of his face illumed by a lantern between himself and an elder guardsman as they bend their heads together and commiserate with each other about the dying morals of their cultures and how they are exemplified by a recent hitch in the olive trade. Both men were long ago wearied by the festivities within the house. But she is cranes over Lander's shoulder. Her teeth flash as she surveys the squares he carved into his low table, and she moves a few of the pebbles he has scattered over the board. The painted stones pinch two other colors between them.
'Sorceress!' Comes the outraged cry, and Lander rises to clasp her to him by the shoulders, crooning over the din: 'O bless your blood, sister!' She can smell the wine on his breath and wryly pushes his ribs as she palms her cheek to shield her face.
'It's because you are all soaked with wine it's so easy to surprise you!'
'Us? Look, you've had no wine at all and you're pink!' a cragged, scarred guardsman reclining on the divan chuckles as he fans himself.
She feels heat flash over her face.
'If they continue to test us with tactical games at the academies, do you think women will soon join us with spear and shield?' Drawls the loser of the contest, scratching the slick hair on his chest away from his shining white skin. His robes are little too loose, and Visha is so intoxicated by their mirth that she has to resist the urge to pull his loose robes up over his nipple. She shifts another step from Lander to shake her head.
'Our Lord only calls upon us when our men have fallen so far we are lost. Lander and Gilit's generation is not so lost.'
'And here I thought you'd stopped being so serious, little Jew!'
'She never quits, by the gods,' Lander chuckles. 'But you are deep in your cups, Erethai. You said you must quit us after this game, but can you even stand? Here. You are on duty tomorrow morning, you poor bastard.' He wrestles Erethal briefly and it takes Visha a moment to remember to avert her eyes as she tidies some of the mess from empty platters to occupy herself. She only just hears Lander groan as he drags Erethal up and pinch another of his fellow guardsmen's cheeks.
'Leo. You're a dutiful Greek. Might be you're serious enough Visha can stand you. Help her tidy up and keep our beastly company from harrying her too bad while I'm gone, will you? Gilit's out there on a tangent and he may never come back to check on my poor siste-- OW, YOU DOG!'
He wheels around on the guard who's pinched his ass, and Erethal goes stumbling into the doorframe, rattling the wood half off its pins. The general din doesn't die down for the several minutes it takes the sloppy guards to push each other into the cool night air.
Once, Visha would have grimaced at the antics. But now her lips curl a little at the edges of her stern frown and her eyes melt warmly over the cups she stacks together. She feels she should thank the guardsman, Leo, who stayed behind. But when she opens her mouth she can't think for how to thank him appropriately, so she only pauses, hesitating with a stack of cups in each hand. When she speaks it's too abrupt by half:
'I don't need your help, sir.'
If Athens has, from her patron goddess's bounty, yielded one piece of wisdom to Avishag of Gilit, it is the meaning of a party.
This is a modest home. It is a low stone affair that shares a courtyard with some half dozen other families, but it was built for a family. The family has deserted it. The head of the Moshe determined, long after subjecting his two boys and three girls to a tormented childhood of uncertainty whether he'd settle in Greece or Judea, that he was happiest with his third wife in Egypt. The two Judean girls had gone with him. If nothing else, he was a shrewd and bounteous merchant, and they knew their brothers could never scrape together good dowries for them. The Moshe's made it a dubious point of honor, almost an afterthought, to leave each of his remaining children something. Gilit of Moshe inherited his wagons and supplies. The Greek brother, Lander of Moshe, inherited this house to keep his mother and sister in until his mother remarried. She had, so normally the home was empty. Blankets dangled forlornly in the windows to keep out the dust and any light that might wash out the furniture inside. Clutter built up in the corners steadily as Lander dropped by with a guard's cat-like carelessness to sleep and eat there for an odd night. The gloom of that abandoned house didn't stick to Lander-- he was warmly welcomed by half the guard whenever he desired to stay, and more civilians still called him friend when he roved by on his rounds. That did not, however, prevent Visha from deciding that while she stayed there with Gilit it was her solemn duty to make sure that Lander's home was clean and that he repaid all his dear friends' hospitality seven times over.
Visha spent hours hauling buckets to the house, pouring the water out over the floors and working her hands raw rubbing either lye or a clean rag into them as Gilit and Lander flitted in and out on their business in the capital. Lander would often creep behind her, so close the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as he lifted the handle of each bucket she toiled with, and she would stubbornly try to go back to carry more until he beseeched her that he needed company while he walked. On a bad day Gilit would kvetch about how Lander didn't know how to make any friends of consequence, how childish these parties were, how expensive all the wine was. He would watch her sullenly at work he couldn't make her quit, limping around as his clenched muscles and jaws and fists ached. Visha felt that aching and his desire to pull her away to lick his wounds. Her cheeks burned because she knew he feared how she would embarrass him with her stupid shyness or her gauche Judean mannerisms. His stare seared her down to the marrow. But she would grit her teeth against the urge to coddle him and snap that she was more desolate with him than on her lonesome. On a good day he might laboriously drag water to the house or join her on the floor with a rag until he had spilled her over in a bedroom and his hands had smoothed open her thighs. He might surprise her by bringing meats and other treats from market that she would never dare splurge on. The rituals were all too quotidian, but when she finally filled Lander's ovens, pots, and fireplaces with the substance of her hands and the scent rolled up to fill the house with warmth and life Visha felt at home, the mistress of something holy the way she always had when she tended her father's tent.
That pride swells her veins to bursting now, as the moon leers through the night's fabric, the festivities draw to a close, and drunken guardsmen support one another merrily home.
She stands in front of those lavishly adorned platters she had hidden behind in the first half of the evening. The meats no longer salivate on their beds of herbs, having long ago congealed. The bread no longer steams, and it has gone stale at the crusts. The low wall between kitchen and foyer is littered with grape stems and crumbs. But Visha isn't pacing back and forth, heart clenching as she watches men put spoonfuls of stew to their lips and tries to read their expressions. She isn't monitoring the wine casks as each man ladles from them, fretting that she didn't fetch enough from the market and tending Gilit when he maunders nervously to her side to murmur in her ear about how strong willed Greek militants are these days and he envies Lander's easeful manners. No, by now she has pushed Gil back into the thick of it. By now Lander has taken her wrist and guided out to introduce her: 'You all remember Gil's wife. You can mock Yahweh all you like, but to make from the rib of a creature like we men of the Moshe a woman who could plan all this is a miracle like raising a city.'
She can hear Gilit's low voice honeyed with enthusiasm, an indistinguishable but pleasant hum wafting through the open windows from the courtyard. If she glances out, she can catch the harsh angles of his face illumed by a lantern between himself and an elder guardsman as they bend their heads together and commiserate with each other about the dying morals of their cultures and how they are exemplified by a recent hitch in the olive trade. Both men were long ago wearied by the festivities within the house. But she is cranes over Lander's shoulder. Her teeth flash as she surveys the squares he carved into his low table, and she moves a few of the pebbles he has scattered over the board. The painted stones pinch two other colors between them.
'Sorceress!' Comes the outraged cry, and Lander rises to clasp her to him by the shoulders, crooning over the din: 'O bless your blood, sister!' She can smell the wine on his breath and wryly pushes his ribs as she palms her cheek to shield her face.
'It's because you are all soaked with wine it's so easy to surprise you!'
'Us? Look, you've had no wine at all and you're pink!' a cragged, scarred guardsman reclining on the divan chuckles as he fans himself.
She feels heat flash over her face.
'If they continue to test us with tactical games at the academies, do you think women will soon join us with spear and shield?' Drawls the loser of the contest, scratching the slick hair on his chest away from his shining white skin. His robes are little too loose, and Visha is so intoxicated by their mirth that she has to resist the urge to pull his loose robes up over his nipple. She shifts another step from Lander to shake her head.
'Our Lord only calls upon us when our men have fallen so far we are lost. Lander and Gilit's generation is not so lost.'
'And here I thought you'd stopped being so serious, little Jew!'
'She never quits, by the gods,' Lander chuckles. 'But you are deep in your cups, Erethai. You said you must quit us after this game, but can you even stand? Here. You are on duty tomorrow morning, you poor bastard.' He wrestles Erethal briefly and it takes Visha a moment to remember to avert her eyes as she tidies some of the mess from empty platters to occupy herself. She only just hears Lander groan as he drags Erethal up and pinch another of his fellow guardsmen's cheeks.
'Leo. You're a dutiful Greek. Might be you're serious enough Visha can stand you. Help her tidy up and keep our beastly company from harrying her too bad while I'm gone, will you? Gilit's out there on a tangent and he may never come back to check on my poor siste-- OW, YOU DOG!'
He wheels around on the guard who's pinched his ass, and Erethal goes stumbling into the doorframe, rattling the wood half off its pins. The general din doesn't die down for the several minutes it takes the sloppy guards to push each other into the cool night air.
Once, Visha would have grimaced at the antics. But now her lips curl a little at the edges of her stern frown and her eyes melt warmly over the cups she stacks together. She feels she should thank the guardsman, Leo, who stayed behind. But when she opens her mouth she can't think for how to thank him appropriately, so she only pauses, hesitating with a stack of cups in each hand. When she speaks it's too abrupt by half:
'I don't need your help, sir.'
He stood quietly in the corner, watchfully at the party which grew progressively louder as time wore on. His heel clunked against the brass plate of his armor against the wall. He hadn’t a chance to release himself from his metal casting before arriving at the household with his fellow guardsmen.
Leonidas wondered how they did it—spilling wine on their armor and wiping it off for the next morning. Whereas for Leonidas the stains always left a mark. Some he wore ever so proudly like the scratches and dry blood and sweat-discoloration around the collar of his tunic. Some he rather scrubbed clean in a bucket of water or enlisted his seamstress mother’s wisdom to remove from the fibers of clothes, and still, he was sure it would show.
The howl and uproar around the game table captured his attention. He watched his friend made an exaggerated display of victory, hugging his sister-in-law with frolicsome excitement—Lander was a half-breed like himself. Half Greek and Half Judean. Although his face marked the connection only a tint more identifiably than Leonidas’ own mixture of naive handmaiden and hypocritical nobleman.
It seemed like fate that the both of them should move up the ranks together to lieutenancy. Though Leonidas doubted that would be something on Lander’s mind in the homely setting. Until some guardsman was to bring up the politics of their armies.
“Talk in the Senate said King Minas set plans in motion to pass down the throne to his royal first-born Princess.” And as expected, a plain-speaking Ialmenes jumped at the chance to voice his opinion, “If we are letting women take on the duties of Kings then we might as well declare to the entire Greece that Athenia has run out of capable men!”
“Oh what do you know about the Senate—” Somebody shouted over the other banter happening concurrently between the players.
“One might come to such conclusion if they walk in here right now…” Leonidas commented and backed out of the way when Lander and Erethai flailed and fell toward his direction. The latter stumbled a few steps and Leonidas reflexively reached out and caught Erethai’s arm under the pit. He raised his cup holding arm up, so he wouldn’t accidentally spill more liquid onto the guard who was already stewing in the scent of alcohol.
“—Here here!”
He felt a vibration reverberating through the metal of his cup, and looked over to find a mischievous, smirking Numa sipping on his own wine after clinking rims with his in an opportunistic toast.
“Now…” Leonidas opened his mouth to chastise the childish behavior. But before he could get a second word out, he was seized by the cheek and dragged to the presence of their hostess. Leonidas hurried into attention before the older woman. The stern and hardy lines of her expression reminded him of so many other merchant wives around the market. He had been observing her hardy domesticity all night, comparing it to his mother’s more elegant, graceful kind—the kind that was designed and trained to be silent and invisible in the background of the noble house.
“Ah—” He gaped, placing his half empty cup with the rest, and moved the small tower of cups on top of the stack of dishes to carry over to the kitchen. “Please allow me. My name is Leonidas. Friends call me… Lander calls me Leo. I’m a Lieutenant, like Lander. Half the men tonight were from my unit, which, I’m ashamed to say was responsible for more than half the mess.”
He set the dishes down by the basin and buckets of water, and looked on curiously to the general din, “I did not see Gilit all night. I should thank him for the food I assumed he provided. Or has Lander been hiding his Judean flares up until now?”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
Badges
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He stood quietly in the corner, watchfully at the party which grew progressively louder as time wore on. His heel clunked against the brass plate of his armor against the wall. He hadn’t a chance to release himself from his metal casting before arriving at the household with his fellow guardsmen.
Leonidas wondered how they did it—spilling wine on their armor and wiping it off for the next morning. Whereas for Leonidas the stains always left a mark. Some he wore ever so proudly like the scratches and dry blood and sweat-discoloration around the collar of his tunic. Some he rather scrubbed clean in a bucket of water or enlisted his seamstress mother’s wisdom to remove from the fibers of clothes, and still, he was sure it would show.
The howl and uproar around the game table captured his attention. He watched his friend made an exaggerated display of victory, hugging his sister-in-law with frolicsome excitement—Lander was a half-breed like himself. Half Greek and Half Judean. Although his face marked the connection only a tint more identifiably than Leonidas’ own mixture of naive handmaiden and hypocritical nobleman.
It seemed like fate that the both of them should move up the ranks together to lieutenancy. Though Leonidas doubted that would be something on Lander’s mind in the homely setting. Until some guardsman was to bring up the politics of their armies.
“Talk in the Senate said King Minas set plans in motion to pass down the throne to his royal first-born Princess.” And as expected, a plain-speaking Ialmenes jumped at the chance to voice his opinion, “If we are letting women take on the duties of Kings then we might as well declare to the entire Greece that Athenia has run out of capable men!”
“Oh what do you know about the Senate—” Somebody shouted over the other banter happening concurrently between the players.
“One might come to such conclusion if they walk in here right now…” Leonidas commented and backed out of the way when Lander and Erethai flailed and fell toward his direction. The latter stumbled a few steps and Leonidas reflexively reached out and caught Erethai’s arm under the pit. He raised his cup holding arm up, so he wouldn’t accidentally spill more liquid onto the guard who was already stewing in the scent of alcohol.
“—Here here!”
He felt a vibration reverberating through the metal of his cup, and looked over to find a mischievous, smirking Numa sipping on his own wine after clinking rims with his in an opportunistic toast.
“Now…” Leonidas opened his mouth to chastise the childish behavior. But before he could get a second word out, he was seized by the cheek and dragged to the presence of their hostess. Leonidas hurried into attention before the older woman. The stern and hardy lines of her expression reminded him of so many other merchant wives around the market. He had been observing her hardy domesticity all night, comparing it to his mother’s more elegant, graceful kind—the kind that was designed and trained to be silent and invisible in the background of the noble house.
“Ah—” He gaped, placing his half empty cup with the rest, and moved the small tower of cups on top of the stack of dishes to carry over to the kitchen. “Please allow me. My name is Leonidas. Friends call me… Lander calls me Leo. I’m a Lieutenant, like Lander. Half the men tonight were from my unit, which, I’m ashamed to say was responsible for more than half the mess.”
He set the dishes down by the basin and buckets of water, and looked on curiously to the general din, “I did not see Gilit all night. I should thank him for the food I assumed he provided. Or has Lander been hiding his Judean flares up until now?”
He stood quietly in the corner, watchfully at the party which grew progressively louder as time wore on. His heel clunked against the brass plate of his armor against the wall. He hadn’t a chance to release himself from his metal casting before arriving at the household with his fellow guardsmen.
Leonidas wondered how they did it—spilling wine on their armor and wiping it off for the next morning. Whereas for Leonidas the stains always left a mark. Some he wore ever so proudly like the scratches and dry blood and sweat-discoloration around the collar of his tunic. Some he rather scrubbed clean in a bucket of water or enlisted his seamstress mother’s wisdom to remove from the fibers of clothes, and still, he was sure it would show.
The howl and uproar around the game table captured his attention. He watched his friend made an exaggerated display of victory, hugging his sister-in-law with frolicsome excitement—Lander was a half-breed like himself. Half Greek and Half Judean. Although his face marked the connection only a tint more identifiably than Leonidas’ own mixture of naive handmaiden and hypocritical nobleman.
It seemed like fate that the both of them should move up the ranks together to lieutenancy. Though Leonidas doubted that would be something on Lander’s mind in the homely setting. Until some guardsman was to bring up the politics of their armies.
“Talk in the Senate said King Minas set plans in motion to pass down the throne to his royal first-born Princess.” And as expected, a plain-speaking Ialmenes jumped at the chance to voice his opinion, “If we are letting women take on the duties of Kings then we might as well declare to the entire Greece that Athenia has run out of capable men!”
“Oh what do you know about the Senate—” Somebody shouted over the other banter happening concurrently between the players.
“One might come to such conclusion if they walk in here right now…” Leonidas commented and backed out of the way when Lander and Erethai flailed and fell toward his direction. The latter stumbled a few steps and Leonidas reflexively reached out and caught Erethai’s arm under the pit. He raised his cup holding arm up, so he wouldn’t accidentally spill more liquid onto the guard who was already stewing in the scent of alcohol.
“—Here here!”
He felt a vibration reverberating through the metal of his cup, and looked over to find a mischievous, smirking Numa sipping on his own wine after clinking rims with his in an opportunistic toast.
“Now…” Leonidas opened his mouth to chastise the childish behavior. But before he could get a second word out, he was seized by the cheek and dragged to the presence of their hostess. Leonidas hurried into attention before the older woman. The stern and hardy lines of her expression reminded him of so many other merchant wives around the market. He had been observing her hardy domesticity all night, comparing it to his mother’s more elegant, graceful kind—the kind that was designed and trained to be silent and invisible in the background of the noble house.
“Ah—” He gaped, placing his half empty cup with the rest, and moved the small tower of cups on top of the stack of dishes to carry over to the kitchen. “Please allow me. My name is Leonidas. Friends call me… Lander calls me Leo. I’m a Lieutenant, like Lander. Half the men tonight were from my unit, which, I’m ashamed to say was responsible for more than half the mess.”
He set the dishes down by the basin and buckets of water, and looked on curiously to the general din, “I did not see Gilit all night. I should thank him for the food I assumed he provided. Or has Lander been hiding his Judean flares up until now?”
Lieutenant Leonidas. Avishag nodded patiently through his self-introduction--albeit frowningly as she observed him sweeping cups into piles for the wash. Lander couldn't help pointing his favorite butt of all jokes out to her, but she would let him don whatever title he liked before he approached her. In this case, he took responsibility for the riotous gaggle of men whom had visited-- half of them, at least.
'I heard your admirable attempts to steer them from what they shouldn't do all night, lieutenant,' she acknowledged as she watched him follow her lead in depositing the glasses in the wash bucket. 'But I don't think that's of any moment to them when you can't suggest what else they might do at a party. These messes are what I expect when I begin preparations.' Her gaze crossed his subtly, intently for the splittest instant as she made the observation. Lander adored Leo. Lander swore they were lions riven from the same clod of earth, or, failing that, given life with the same breath-- Lander would swear on every name under the heavens that they didn't share a name for nothing, whatever Yahweh had to say about oaths. (Visha would return that that was a poor way to speak of the Lord who had molded the earth and breathed their shared breath, but he waved her off).
Yet.
The lieutenant's eyes scanned the few remaining men in the awning. A couple filtered out with the host gone. Two remained-- Numa, and one other whose name she couldn't recall. But Leo invoked her husband's generosity in supplying the food rather than commenting further on the festivities. She glanced outside where Gilit still kicked his legs and gestured sweepingly to his partner in conversation, and she took a step away from Leo as she stacked lidded basins on the tabletop and plopped a few spoonfuls of ground herbs, oil, and pepper into one.
'My husband did supply everything you dined on tonight,' she affirmed. 'Lander can barely feed himself. I wish his mother and sisters were still here. It is all I can do to leave him a few days' meals and some supplies. Either way, I will convey your gratitude appropriately. Gilit could well be all night.'
She glanced at the door, wondering how long it would be before Lander returned, the phantom traces of his back and shoulders supporting Erethai lingering under the door's arch.
'Truly, though, you do not need to concern yourself with the mess,' she repeated. 'I was enjoying your conversation about the princess.' She glanced at Numa.
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Lieutenant Leonidas. Avishag nodded patiently through his self-introduction--albeit frowningly as she observed him sweeping cups into piles for the wash. Lander couldn't help pointing his favorite butt of all jokes out to her, but she would let him don whatever title he liked before he approached her. In this case, he took responsibility for the riotous gaggle of men whom had visited-- half of them, at least.
'I heard your admirable attempts to steer them from what they shouldn't do all night, lieutenant,' she acknowledged as she watched him follow her lead in depositing the glasses in the wash bucket. 'But I don't think that's of any moment to them when you can't suggest what else they might do at a party. These messes are what I expect when I begin preparations.' Her gaze crossed his subtly, intently for the splittest instant as she made the observation. Lander adored Leo. Lander swore they were lions riven from the same clod of earth, or, failing that, given life with the same breath-- Lander would swear on every name under the heavens that they didn't share a name for nothing, whatever Yahweh had to say about oaths. (Visha would return that that was a poor way to speak of the Lord who had molded the earth and breathed their shared breath, but he waved her off).
Yet.
The lieutenant's eyes scanned the few remaining men in the awning. A couple filtered out with the host gone. Two remained-- Numa, and one other whose name she couldn't recall. But Leo invoked her husband's generosity in supplying the food rather than commenting further on the festivities. She glanced outside where Gilit still kicked his legs and gestured sweepingly to his partner in conversation, and she took a step away from Leo as she stacked lidded basins on the tabletop and plopped a few spoonfuls of ground herbs, oil, and pepper into one.
'My husband did supply everything you dined on tonight,' she affirmed. 'Lander can barely feed himself. I wish his mother and sisters were still here. It is all I can do to leave him a few days' meals and some supplies. Either way, I will convey your gratitude appropriately. Gilit could well be all night.'
She glanced at the door, wondering how long it would be before Lander returned, the phantom traces of his back and shoulders supporting Erethai lingering under the door's arch.
'Truly, though, you do not need to concern yourself with the mess,' she repeated. 'I was enjoying your conversation about the princess.' She glanced at Numa.
Lieutenant Leonidas. Avishag nodded patiently through his self-introduction--albeit frowningly as she observed him sweeping cups into piles for the wash. Lander couldn't help pointing his favorite butt of all jokes out to her, but she would let him don whatever title he liked before he approached her. In this case, he took responsibility for the riotous gaggle of men whom had visited-- half of them, at least.
'I heard your admirable attempts to steer them from what they shouldn't do all night, lieutenant,' she acknowledged as she watched him follow her lead in depositing the glasses in the wash bucket. 'But I don't think that's of any moment to them when you can't suggest what else they might do at a party. These messes are what I expect when I begin preparations.' Her gaze crossed his subtly, intently for the splittest instant as she made the observation. Lander adored Leo. Lander swore they were lions riven from the same clod of earth, or, failing that, given life with the same breath-- Lander would swear on every name under the heavens that they didn't share a name for nothing, whatever Yahweh had to say about oaths. (Visha would return that that was a poor way to speak of the Lord who had molded the earth and breathed their shared breath, but he waved her off).
Yet.
The lieutenant's eyes scanned the few remaining men in the awning. A couple filtered out with the host gone. Two remained-- Numa, and one other whose name she couldn't recall. But Leo invoked her husband's generosity in supplying the food rather than commenting further on the festivities. She glanced outside where Gilit still kicked his legs and gestured sweepingly to his partner in conversation, and she took a step away from Leo as she stacked lidded basins on the tabletop and plopped a few spoonfuls of ground herbs, oil, and pepper into one.
'My husband did supply everything you dined on tonight,' she affirmed. 'Lander can barely feed himself. I wish his mother and sisters were still here. It is all I can do to leave him a few days' meals and some supplies. Either way, I will convey your gratitude appropriately. Gilit could well be all night.'
She glanced at the door, wondering how long it would be before Lander returned, the phantom traces of his back and shoulders supporting Erethai lingering under the door's arch.
'Truly, though, you do not need to concern yourself with the mess,' she repeated. 'I was enjoying your conversation about the princess.' She glanced at Numa.
