Oberlin, Ohio
Daughter of
Greece Dedication For my parents, "Wake up! Wake up!" shrieked a voice in my ear. "Yes, do," said a softer voice in my other ear. "Jason is
downstairs. He says he has a gift for you." "If you don't wake up right now, we'll tell Mama that you
went out by yourself yesterday!" shouted a third voice. "Come on! I want to see what he brought for you!" said
the soft voice. With a groan, I slowly opened my bleary eyes and looked
around. Four pairs of bright, unblinking eyes were staring
at me. My sleepy mind sluggishly identified them one by one.
There was Kassandra, my seven-year-old sister. On her hip,
she balanced my small one-year-old cousin Barbara, who was
sucking her thumb busily. Next to Kassandra stood (O great
Athena protect me) my brothers, both twins, Alexander and
Phillip. I sat up with a sigh and glared at my brothers. "Phillip,
if you dare to tell Mother what you just threatened, I will
tell her that you put that box of frogs under her pillow
last night." "But that's not true!" protested Phillip. "So?" I said, grinning wickedly. Phillip and Alexander fled. "Well, that gets rid of them. Now, Kassandra, what were
you saying again?" I asked. "I said, your betrothed is waiting for you downstairs. He
has something for you. Hurry up and get dressed." repeated
my sister. With a yelp, I leapt out of bed, nearly knocking
Kassandra and the baby over. I grabbed my chiton and shawl,
pulling them on as I tumbled down the ladder. Unfortunately,
my aunt Helen was coming, at a slower pace, up it. "I was
just coming to get you, Iola dear." she said with a gentle
smile. "Jason wants to see you. And Kassandra," she added,
looking over my shoulder, "we need you in the weaving room.
Your poor mother is out of her head, weaving two ceremonial
dresses at once for your sisters. Here, I'll take the
baby." I stumbled down the remaining rungs in a black mood. Why,
oh why did I have to get married? It wasn't that Jason was
cruel or anything, but I was too young. I had my whole life
ahead of me. I was only 13 - a normal, brown-haired,
green-eyed, slender teenager. I like 25-year-old Jason, but
as a friend, not a husband. I thought he was kind. Teresa
seemed resigned to her marriage. Everyone kept telling me to
be like Teresa. If a sassy 16-year-old could marry, so could
I, they told me. Personally, I could not see how anyone
could stand Andrew, her husband-to-be. My brother-in-law was
miserly, calculating, and shrewd. Christopher, my teasing
15-year-old brother, called him Pinchface. My thoughts wandered to my brother. He would probably be
out in the fields now, working with Papa, Uncle Stephen, and
Dennis, our "farmhand." In reality, Dennis was a slave. But
Papa believed in justice, and that included the rule of no
slaves. However, we needed the help. So my Papa compromised
and bought three slaves - Dennis, Karen, and Dorthy. Now,
they were part of our family practically. My thoughts drifted again. I pitied the women and girls
in the weaving room. As soon as Jason's visit was over,
though, I would have to join them. In the summer that place
was boiling. Sweat coated everyone. In the winter it was
frigid. It was better now in harvest time but not much. The
women, I reckoned, would now be gossiping about town news -
that'd be my mother, Catherine, my Aunt Helen, my Aunt
Miriam, my Grandmother Eurycleia (oh, how I loved her!),
sassy Teresa, Dorthy, and Karen. Dorthy was my nurse. No one
knew how old she was. That's generally the case with slaves.
Dorthy was older than my grandmother, though, that much we
knew. Whenever I was in trouble, I went to Dorthy. She and
Grandmother were best friends. One would often find them
chattering together, watching the little ones in the sunny
inner courtyard. Karen was our all-around helper. She
frequently played the role of nursemaid, cook, tailor's
assistant, and much more. One thing about Karen was that she
was really intelligent. My Papa used to let her sneak in
during our lessons at home while the boys were at school and
listen in. She paid attention more than we did! On the floor of the weaving room, I imagined all the
little ones playing happily - Alexander, Phillip, Theodore,
Melanie, and Barbara. Kassandra and Ellen would probably be
watching them, listening to the women talk. Cousin Ellen was
very shy. She and Kassandra were best friends. They were the
same age exactly. Ellen was the jumpiest girl I knew,
though. Christopher was always scaring her senseless. Gloom
swamped my smile at the memory. When I was married, I
probably would never see any of them again. Not even my
parents. Not even Christopher or Uncle Stephen. Those two
could always cheer me up and make me laugh. I slowly trudged the rest of the way to the frontmost
room. Inside, I could hear Papa and Christopher talking to
Jason. I sighed, straightened my chiton, gathered my
courage, and swung open the heavy wooden door. Inside the brightly lit room, I stood on the threshold,
waiting for my eyes to adjust to the much lighter room for
Papa's company. I was hardly ever allowed in, being a girl.
Papa told me that I wouldn't enjoy the parties he sometimes
hosted in here anyway, as the men nearly always got
drunk. Papa, Christopher, and Jason had been sitting, but they
all leapt up when they saw me. I blushed as Christopher
added a mock bow to me (Papa elbowed him). I nodded and
dipped a curtsy to each in turn. Jason smiled at me. "Iola, you look lovely today. I brought something for
you." He moved aside a bit so that I could see the corner of a
large basket on the wooden stool behind him. He grinned at
my curious look, then carefully placed the basket on the
floor in front of me. I glanced at Papa questioningly; he,
too, smiled and nodded. I knelt and opened the lid of the
basket a crack. I put one tentative hand into it - and
yanked it out again when a wet and slimy something slurped
my fingers! I upended the basket onto the floor. Out tumbled
what looked like a ball of woolly fur. Had Jason given me a
sheep? I was close in my guess, as it turned out. My brother,
Papa, and Jason all threw back their heads and laughed as
the round, black puppy disentangled itself and leapt
exuberantly upon me. I beamed at Jason. "He's beautiful!
Thank you so much!" "What are you going to name him?" asked Jason, still
laughing as the puppy tried to kiss all of me at once,
trembling furiously from head to tail with delight. I managed to push the bouncing pup out of my face and
surveyed him, holding his head between my hands. "I'll call
him Jay, after you." I decided. The remainder of time was spent exclaiming over Jay.
Finally, Jason stood up and thanked Papa for his
hospitality, before taking his leave. Christopher walked me
and my new puppy to the weaving room. Mama swung the door
open to admit us, and Jay was immediately beset by
youngsters screaming with fiendish delight. I managed to
slip past Mother with the intent of joining them and
therefore escaping my weaving for a bit, but I was snagged
about my waist by my Aunt Miriam and told to start weaving
quite firmly. Grumbling bad-temperedly, I plopped down on my
stool. As Christopher left and things quieted down a bit, I
labored over the neck of Teresa's gown and the women picked
up their gossip again. Actually, it was quite interesting,
some bits. I began to listen as my fingers flew with long
experience over the shuttle. "Did you hear the news?" asked Miriam. "Old Critho's son
had a surprise when he got home! If you'll remember, the men
like to carry their money in their mouths now when they shop
at the market? Well, he got home, and his daughter came
running to kiss him. But then," (Miriam guffawed and slapped
her thighs) "then he noticed that she was fishing coins out
of his mouth!" I laughed. Athens was growing rapidly, I heard. Trade and craft
workers' numbers were growing. "Iola, I hear a rumor from
your brothers." my mother said severely. I gulped. "What would that be, madam?" I inquired innocently. "Your brothers inform me that you ventured out onto the
streets with no escort and no head covering. Is this true?"
my mother said sharply. I hung my head. It was pointless to argue. "Yes ma'am.
But," I rushed to my defense, "I'm not married yet." "Neither are you a child anymore, Iola. You must start
behaving more responsibly." I could feel the women's gaze on me. Burning with shame
and anger, I bent my head over my loom, like any good, tame,
meek girl. No! I screamed silently at myself. You must not
think that way. Be wild, Iola, be your own person, be
free! Without any warning, I threw down my shuttle and flew out
the door. I didn't want Mama or the others to see my tears.
Running wildly, I didn't notice that I had passed my room
until I ran slap-bang into one of the pillars that upheld
our inner courtyard. There, in front of the family's alter
to Athena, I slumped against the tall column and sobbed
brokenheartedly, my knees crunched against my chest, my head
on my knees, my hands wrapped around my head. At that
precise moment, I felt as though I was everything everyone
wanted me not to be. I felt helpless - I couldn't have a say
in anything. It occurred to me that I was watching my life
be ripped away from me, by hands that pushed and pulled but
never asked me what I wanted my life to be like, hands that
thought they each knew best. And I was angry at those
hands. I didn't know how long I had been sitting there. I felt a
quiet presence at my side. My tears had stopped. I was left
with a calm, serene feeling. I looked up and saw my brother
Christopher at my side. He offered his hand; I grasped it
and pulled myself up. No words were said. There was no need.
He put an arm around my shoulders and steered me inside,
leaving the steadily darkening courtyard behind. That night, I lay in bed, watching the stars wink. I
listened to the quiet breathing of my sisters, brothers, and
cousins in the beds next to mine. Little Jay was curled
against my legs. Downstairs, the adults were laughing and
talking. Calming peacefulness... Everything was going to be all right. The next morning, I was up with the sunrise. I planned to
beg some bread and goat cheese and some grapes from Karen
and Dorthy, who were probably in the kitchen by now. Then I
would take the food out to the fields and, after having my
breakfast, feed the farm animals theirs while I waited for
Papa, Uncle, and Christopher. Everything went smoothly in the kitchen. I trotted out to
the barn to tend to the horse and goats and pigs, juggling a
piping hot, freshly baked loaf of Dorthy's best brown bread.
I first went to our horse, a fine chestnut mare. She had
been Uncle Stephen's mount when he was a general in
battle. "Here, girl. Are you hungry?" I cooed to her. She blew
down her nose at me. Next, I went to our pigs. I had promised myself not to
get attached to them, because we would probably be eating
one for out next important time, like - DON'T THINK ABOUT THE WEDDINGS, IOLA! I told myself. The last kind of animal I had to feed were the goats.
They were my favorites, and probably the most valuable to
our family - we depended on them for our milk, cheese, and
other products. I rushed to my favorite goat, little
Leander. He was only three weeks old, and so adorable! He
had the biggest eyes you ever way, and his light hair was
whiter than a princess's manicured nail. He gazed up at me
under long, pale lashes. His little horns, perched atop his
head, were barely visible. I fed him and his family. I left Leander and the others in their pens, and raced
outside, sucking in the cold, clean, crisp air hungrily. I
leaned against a bale of hay. I was lucky to live on a farm. Papa always told my
siblings and me that farming was the most important work.
When the twins asked him why, he would tell us this was
because farming provided food for all of Greece. "Without
us," he would say proudly, "Greece would wither."
Unfortunately, my parents agreed that they wanted the very
best for me, and not a life of hard work. So when I was
born, they engaged me to marry Jason, who belongs to a rich
family, so I could live in comfort. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT! I thundered at myself. It was unanimously agreed, however, that life on a Greek
farm was difficult. Out soil and that of our neighbors was
of poor quality. My Uncle Stephen loved to tell a tale of a
man named Peisistratos, the ruler of Athens. He was riding
on a shaggy pony, not his fine charger, so he would appear
inconspicuous, in the countryside. He came upon a man
working on a piece of land which seemed to consist on
nothing but stones. The surprised Peisistratos asked the man
what the land produced. "Only hardship and pain," said the
farmer, who did not recognize the ruler, "and I'll have to
pay ten percent of that in tax to Peisistratos." In my uncle's tale, Peisistratos admired the
hard-working, outspoken man and freed him of all
taxation. On very rocky ground, like our land, grapes and olives
were the main crops. Which reminded me. I still had to
cajole the men into harvesting this week. I loved to
harvest. It is a time of hard work and much labor. But you
are always surrounded by at least five people, all laughing
and talking and pelting grapes at you and each other. Even
us women leave our looms for days, for once helping outside,
for all hands were needed at harvest time. Across the field, I could see our big, airy farmhouse. It
was beginning to awaken. "Iola! Get in here and help, girl!" I heard Dennis, Dorthy and Karen calling for me. I sighed
and started to jog slowly towards their voices. "Iola! Where have you been. We've been looking all over
for you." Dorthy clucked and tsked at me, fussing over my
slightly askew and grimy chiton. "Come on and help me knead this dough." She towed me over
to a stout wooden table, where she and Karen were making
rolls. Behind them, Dennis was feeding the fire. I slid in next to Karen and started to jam my knuckles
into the soft, doughy mixture. I liked to knead. It was
calming and easy, giving me a chance to relax. Karen had
already baked one batch of rolls, and was on her second. I
looked over at Dennis. I wondered how he felt. It was common
knowledge that when he turned twenty, Papa was going to set
him free. Dennis hated being a slave and wanted his freedom
badly. Papa, I knew, was secretly giving him wages, and
Dennis, I suspected, would start some kind of business using
the money. Some of the cleverer male slaves could do
that. And heaven knows that Dennis was clever, though not
extraordinarily clever like Karen. My eyes drifted to her
again. She was very grateful to Papa, I knew. Karen was
Spartan by birth, and very strong and beautiful. She was
among a group of helots, or Spartan slaves, who were on the
market in the slave pens. Papa and Christopher happened to
be passing by that way. They knew that if she was sold, she
would go to either a rich house and be forced to dance,
sing, and do tumbling tricks for the drinking parties, or
she would go to another farm where she would be beaten all
the time. Most farms ran solely on slave labor. But if she
was not sold that week or so, she would be shipped back to
Sparta. That would be the worst fate imaginable. Spartan
helots were owned by the state, did most of the work that
had to be done, and were treated very, very badly. They were
the most mistreated group of slaves in probably all of
Greece. So Papa bought her and thus saved her from her
terrible, and for a while, inevitable fate. Wise scholars estimated that the number of slaves in
Attica, the region around Athens, was twice the number of
free citizens. Slaves were usually prisoners of war who were
non-Greek. Men, women, and children were all sold into
slavery. Slaves here had no legal rights whatsoever. Sometimes I thought that Athens treated its women just as
badly as its slaves. I've even threatened to run away to
Sparta once or twice. (I was ignored.) Sparta's girls were
encouraged to be athletic. They wore short skirts belted at
the waist, raced with the boys, and altogether had more
freedom than I did. Their women could even own land! They
also could go to school, I imagined. Here, that was
impossible. The men complained that a literate female had
too much power. A male character in Uncle Stephen's favorite
comedy said: "Teach a woman letters A serious mistake! Like giving extra poison To a terrifying snake." Women here could not go outdoors until they were old
enough to have grown-up children, as one man wrote. However,
I was able to because I lived in the country, so no one
would really notice if I chose to do so. The incident the
other day was because I took a trip to the market by myself
when I wasn't supposed to. I was sick and tired of men always complaining about
prosperous women who "sat around grandly" in their words. In
truth, women worked as hard as men did, perhaps harder. We
did all the cooking and cleaning. We also had to produce all
the cloth, by weaving and spinning, used to make clothes for
our families. My eyes drooped. I was very warm, and I was lulled by the
soft talking of Karen, Dorthy, and Dennis. I hope no one
minds, I thought briefly, and fell asleep. "'Ola, 'ola!" a little hand tugged urgently at my sleeve,
jolting me awake. I drowsily dragged my head out from my
arms. Great Athena, I'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table!
The slaves were gone, I saw. I smiled at cute little 4-year
old cousin Melanie, who had been calling me in her baby
speech, and stretched lazily. I assumed that she wanted me
to do something for her. "What is it?" I cooed at her. "Do
you want me to play with you?" "'Ola, Papa say come now! I don't know know why!" she
wailed. She was clearly upset. When Papa calls you come just as fast as you can. I
jumped up, taking Melanie's hand. We flew silently down the
long passageway, heading toward the company room. Skidding
to a halt, I wrenched open the door and raced inside,
yanking poor Melanie in behind me. I almost rammed into
Papa. He didn't seem to notice or care. His face was deathly
pale. "Papa!" I nearly shrieked. "What's wrong?" He turned to me. "Iola," he said gently, putting his
hands on my shoulders. "Do you remember that Jason had to go
on a trip into the woods to hunt?" "Yes....oh, Papa, he's dead, isn't he! The wild animals
killed him." Terror ate at me. "No, daughter. A group of bandits have captured him.
They're using him to get into the city. They say we have
five days to open the gates. If we don't they'll kill him
slowly." Five days. Five days. Five days. It echoed in my
head. I went up to our room in a numb shock. To my surprise,
Kassandra and Teresa were already there, sitting on their
beds. I sat silently on mine, my chin on my hands. We just
sat there for a while, thinking. Kassandra broke the
silence. "What happened?" she asked me quietly. The tears came then, thick and fast. I felt two pairs of
arms around me. Sobbing, I told them. "And they're going to make them open the gates, or else
they'll kill him slowly in front of us. Once they get in,
they'll control Athens totally. And then they'll find us,
out here in the country!" Silence. Finally, "Do you like him, Iola?" Teresa asked me gently. I fought with my feelings. "Yes, I do. He's my friend." I
told them at last. "I do not want to marry anybody at all,
but he's still my friend." Kassandra stood up decisively. "All right then. You have
one day to pack. We'll help you." I stared at her blankly. Then it dawned on me what she
was saying. My voice came out in a squeak. "You want me to
go chasing after bloodthirsty killer bandits?" "Iola, you care about him. He would do the same for you,
I'm sure." Teresa told me. "All right then. I'll get a knife
and some blankets. You'll need to start out early
tomorrow." ************** The farm was asleep when I quietly crept out of the back
door. I carried my small sack to our Athena altar and said a
prayer for good luck, just in case. That got me to thinking
about the gods as I strode out of sight without a backward
glance. The gods were fickle, I decided. They were supposed
to be godly and all-powerful, but it seemed to me that they
were a lot like us. They quarreled, fell in love, got
married, and played music just like humans according to the
myths. And they were forever changing their minds. Athens
had Athena for their special patron. In fact, a hugely
massive gold and ivory statue was built of her. It was
placed in the Parthenon. My mother, Catherine, liked to tell
us the story of how Athena was born. Legend has it that her
mother was Metis, goddess of wisdom; her father was Zeus,
King of the gods. A prophecy had told Zeus that the child
born of Metis would be more powerful and wise than Zeus
himself. Hoping to prevent this, he swallowed Metis. But
nine months later, he had a splitting headache. Upon
request, the blacksmith god cut Zeus' head open. Out of her
father's forehead popped Athena, fully grown, fully clothed,
fully armored, and shouting her warcry. Zeus appeared in artwork usually as a strong,
middle-aged, bearded man of great power and dignity. His
symbol was the thunderbolt, which he used to dispense
justice. Apollo, one of his many offspring, was a beautiful
young deity. He was associated with such things as the sun,
light, medicine, and healing. Sometimes at harvest, we would trek into town and join in
the revelry. We'd help to make the sacrifices in the
temples. (I always left before the animal sacrifices. I
really hated that part.) We believed that if the gods liked
and enjoyed the sacrifices, we would have good luck. Papa
would bring the best of our harvest. Sometimes the men from
the town would get a bull, a fine young one, and deck it
with garlands and ribbons to show that it had been set aside
for the god's sacrifice. I was nearing the edge of the forest now. Sending up a
quick prayer to the goat-man god Pan, who had charge of
woodlands and fields, I took a deep breath and stepped into
the uninviting darkness. ************** I didn't have any plan in particular. So it's probably
understandable that it didn't take very long for me to
totally and completely panic. To my immense surprise and
discomfort, it was not long till I heard voices. They seemed
to be taunting someone - Jason, I expected. Holding my
breath, I ducked behind a large bush and listened intently.
By peering through a hole in the branches, I could just
barely make out the bandits' faces by the light of their
fire. I scanned them, looking for Jason. I saw him tied with
lots of rope and a gag against a tree. He was off to the
side, out of the firelight. I quickly scooted around to the
large, thick tree. With one pinkie fingernail, I reached out
and brushed the top of his hand. I saw him stiffen. What I
was about to do next was extremely dangerous. The bandits,
if they looked in exactly the right place, would see my
whole head for about ten seconds. I took a breath. Wrapping
my arms around the tree trunk, I carefully hoisted myself up
until my face was level with his ear. Next was the hard
part. I quickly snapped my head around the tree and
whispered to him. "Jason. Do not move an inch. I am going to slip a knife
into your hands. Use it to cut your hands free. I'll get
your arms and your gag." I heard him gasp slightly as I whipped my head back
around the trunk. I carefully slid the knife quietly into
his open palm. I took the other one and sawed through his
arm ropes and gag. (As I had a kitchen knife, Dorthy's best,
this was not easy.) As soon as the gag dropped, he began
muttering furiously at me, telling me that I shouldn't have
come, that I might have been killed, and to run right now
while I still had a chance. "Iola, I'm telling you, they're killers. You have to go
right now!" "Not without you I won't!" I told him fiercely. "Yes without me!" "No. And that is the end of it. Now, when I say so, you
have to carefully and quietly edge around this tree. Once
you judge yourself out of earshot, run as fast as you
possibly can. I'll be right behind you." I instructed
him. I waited until the bandits' heads were all turned away
from us. "Go!" I whispered sharply. He went, heading toward
our farm. I did not stick around to see if the bandits noticed. I
ran as I had never run before. I caught up with Jason, I ran
so swiftly. We fled in silence, knowing that if they caught
us again, we would most likely be killed on the spot. "We want to head for the back entrance," I panted to
Jason. He nodded. With a burst of energy, we tumbled into
the back door and slammed it behind us. Immediately, about
six different people came running, a child in tow. "Iola!"
"Oh Dason, I taut you were died!" (from Melanie). "You must
both be exhausted. Come in!" "Dennis, would you bar that
door, please? We don't want those nasty people behind them
to come in." "Oh Iola, my dear, are you all right?" I picked myself up from the floor. "Yes, I think so. I
really do." Well, you know the rest. In one year I am going to be
married. But you know something? I don't care as much
anymore. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. I've gained a
lot of respect from Jason. So I'm going to have a good life
in his house. His parents are very kind to me. They always
wanted a daughter. I'll be able to see my family as much as
I would like. And the best part? I get to take Jay with me! So goodbye to my old life. I'm starting anew. Wherever I
go, I'll be happy. That is for sure. Sophia Cavanaugh is an eleven-year-old who lives in the
small college town of Oberlin, Ohio. She grew up around
books and loves to read constantly. She lives with her
family of six, including her faithful pooch Owen, a
puppy. .
who have always encouraged and loved me.
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