There were murmurs...
I remembered the herons as I tried to rest, wings and more wings, bearing me away.
P
Sometimes, we troop to our old theatre, lost in its bowl of cypress and overgrown with grass and weeds, seats and benches crumbled. Laying aside our clothes, we toss rover reeds, have a try at archery, play catch. Or we race or go in for leap-frog or tug-of-war.
Little boys like to pester us and poke fun. Little boys—how delightful they can be.
If the day is sultry, we loll. Usually, the complaint is “too much sun.” I used to think we needed lots of sun and exercise but now I’m not sure.
Lying on a moss-topped stone, time seemed to pause: I think there is trouble brewing. I don’t put it past Rhodopis to concoct something. Even Kleis has been too alarmed to return to Charaxos’ house. Mallia has told her to wait.
There has been a to-do because the “right” people did not attend the homecoming party for Charaxos. What a pity! I know of no changes in the life of Mytilene that required a unanimous celebration.
“Why must there be bad feelings between their house and ours?” Kleis has asked. “Of course I hate him for what he did to me.”
My knees trembled.