too small for me?" I rub my arms against a sudden chill.
My stepfather turns me around and looks into my eyes with his gray ones. I realize that I am almost as tall as he. Konnidas doesn't smile often, but he usually wears a pleasant expression. Now his solemn face strikes dread in my heart.
"What do you mean?" I repeat, and my tight throat makes the last word squeak.
He asks me a question himself. "Why do you think they hate you?"
I don't ask who. It seems that everybody in the village hates me. "Because of what she says," I answer. "Because she insists that my father is Poseidon. They think that I think I'm better than they are."
"Do you?"
"No!"
"Have you ever said that you were?"
"No, of course not." I'm indignant.
"Then why would they hate
you
for it?"
That brings me up short. I look at my stepfather in silence, confused.
"That's not why they hate you," he says. "They wouldn't hold you responsible for something she says. They know her—at least, their parents know her. She's never been—she's always been different."
"Then, what is it? If it's not what she says that makes them angry at me, what?"
It's you.
"And this is
better
—that they hate me for myself and not for my parentage?"
"Not better. They see something in you that frightens them."
"What do they see?"
"You're too—too big, too strong, for this place. Not"—he raises a hand as he sees me about to speak—"not your body, although that's bigger and stronger than I think you know. No, it's
you,
it's Theseus. Without knowing it, they see that you're greater than any of them, and they're frightened and jealous. So they attack you. It's like wolves—you've seen how the leader has to continually fight to maintain his position?" I nod. "It's the same thing."
This is perhaps the longest speech I have ever heard my stepfather make, and I have no idea how to respond. The silence stretches between us. I hear a
pat-pat-pat,
and the dog comes trotting out of the house. She sits and looks up at me. I look down at her, then across at my stepfather. Both stare back at me.
"All right," I say. "I'll go."
Chapter 10
WHEN MY COUSIN Maera was sent to Korinthos to marry an ally of our grandfather, King Pittheus, her mother wept and wailed for days as though Maera had died, and as though she didn't leave behind four sisters to occupy my aunt's time. When Kastor, the son of a fisherman, joined the crew of a merchant ship heading for far-off Lydia, his father threw a feast that lasted all night and into the next day, with wine and roast goat and sweet cakes for all who attended.
When I leave for Athens in search of my father, my mother looks up from where she's arranging dried flowers just long enough to smile and remark that it's a lovely day for a walk.
Konnidas accompanies me to the place where the path to the sea forks and turns into the road running northwest along the edge of the water and thence to Athens. He carries a pack, and before we part he helps me hoist it onto my back. "There's a warm blanket in there." He adjusts the straps and settles it firmly on my shoulders. "And enough food to last you for a few days, if you're careful, and as much water as I thought you could carry."
"Surely there are springs leading down to the sea." I busy myself tightening the buckles and hope he doesn't hear the catch in my voice.
"Maybe. Maybe not. Can't be too careful." My stepfather looks searchingly at my face. "I have tried to be a father to you, Theseus. When I first arrived at your house and you threw rocks at me—remember?" I shake my head. "Oh yes, you were quite the little defender of your home and your mother. I took no offense, and I convinced you that I was harmless. When I stayed, it was as much for your sake as your mother's." At my raised eyebrows, he breaks into one of his rare grins. "All right, then,
almost
as much. I've loved you as I would have loved any son of my own, and I know that this journey is necessary to you. I just ask that you not
My stepfather turns me around and looks into my eyes with his gray ones. I realize that I am almost as tall as he. Konnidas doesn't smile often, but he usually wears a pleasant expression. Now his solemn face strikes dread in my heart.
"What do you mean?" I repeat, and my tight throat makes the last word squeak.
He asks me a question himself. "Why do you think they hate you?"
I don't ask who. It seems that everybody in the village hates me. "Because of what she says," I answer. "Because she insists that my father is Poseidon. They think that I think I'm better than they are."
"Do you?"
"No!"
"Have you ever said that you were?"
"No, of course not." I'm indignant.
"Then why would they hate
you
for it?"
That brings me up short. I look at my stepfather in silence, confused.
"That's not why they hate you," he says. "They wouldn't hold you responsible for something she says. They know her—at least, their parents know her. She's never been—she's always been different."
"Then, what is it? If it's not what she says that makes them angry at me, what?"
It's you.
"And this is
better
—that they hate me for myself and not for my parentage?"
"Not better. They see something in you that frightens them."
"What do they see?"
"You're too—too big, too strong, for this place. Not"—he raises a hand as he sees me about to speak—"not your body, although that's bigger and stronger than I think you know. No, it's
you,
it's Theseus. Without knowing it, they see that you're greater than any of them, and they're frightened and jealous. So they attack you. It's like wolves—you've seen how the leader has to continually fight to maintain his position?" I nod. "It's the same thing."
This is perhaps the longest speech I have ever heard my stepfather make, and I have no idea how to respond. The silence stretches between us. I hear a
pat-pat-pat,
and the dog comes trotting out of the house. She sits and looks up at me. I look down at her, then across at my stepfather. Both stare back at me.
"All right," I say. "I'll go."
Chapter 10
WHEN MY COUSIN Maera was sent to Korinthos to marry an ally of our grandfather, King Pittheus, her mother wept and wailed for days as though Maera had died, and as though she didn't leave behind four sisters to occupy my aunt's time. When Kastor, the son of a fisherman, joined the crew of a merchant ship heading for far-off Lydia, his father threw a feast that lasted all night and into the next day, with wine and roast goat and sweet cakes for all who attended.
When I leave for Athens in search of my father, my mother looks up from where she's arranging dried flowers just long enough to smile and remark that it's a lovely day for a walk.
Konnidas accompanies me to the place where the path to the sea forks and turns into the road running northwest along the edge of the water and thence to Athens. He carries a pack, and before we part he helps me hoist it onto my back. "There's a warm blanket in there." He adjusts the straps and settles it firmly on my shoulders. "And enough food to last you for a few days, if you're careful, and as much water as I thought you could carry."
"Surely there are springs leading down to the sea." I busy myself tightening the buckles and hope he doesn't hear the catch in my voice.
"Maybe. Maybe not. Can't be too careful." My stepfather looks searchingly at my face. "I have tried to be a father to you, Theseus. When I first arrived at your house and you threw rocks at me—remember?" I shake my head. "Oh yes, you were quite the little defender of your home and your mother. I took no offense, and I convinced you that I was harmless. When I stayed, it was as much for your sake as your mother's." At my raised eyebrows, he breaks into one of his rare grins. "All right, then,
almost
as much. I've loved you as I would have loved any son of my own, and I know that this journey is necessary to you. I just ask that you not
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