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In the night, you awaken – tangled in your wife’s embrace, you find that your hand is resting upon Euanippe’s abdomen. Somewhere within, a child is growing. Drowsily, you wonder what sort of person they might become…
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You are Deianira Hippomedion, and you are doing your best to keep your composure as you travel the streets of Phthia, capital of Thessaly. You’ve forgotten your effect on crowds – men of all ages and backgrounds stare at you with a comedic mixture of hapless lust and surprise, while women glare at you with open hostility. Soldier stumble into each other, becoming uncoordinated boys – and elderly men draw the ire of their wives and daughters as they gawk at you improperly. A crowd of young men trail in your wake, mostly commoners but a few low nobility as well, begging for your name and your attentions.
You ignore them all, of course.
You ride in a newly-purchased chariot along Argyros, trusted servant and lieutenant of your family for two generations. Soon, your brother will send for him along with fifty of your family’s best men, and you will be without a capable commander. Today, you will go to the palace of Peleus and seek out a new servant, an experienced soldier who can assist you on the battlefield and serve as your steward, while your brother and Argyros are away. A careful selection must be made and -
Your musings are interrupted by a choking sensation, an abominable pressure on your throat. The phantom sensation attacks at random, without warning – you hide your gasping as best you can. Once again, you curse the vile nymph, daughter of a river god, that shattered your ankle, nearly drowned you, and killed Iudus – even now, on a bright autumn day, her memory sees fit to strangle you. Markings of another sort freeze along your arm - the icy grip of a deity who once wore the skin of a vagrant...
<span class="mu-i">“You will have your revenge in time, ‘Nira – but duty to the οἶκος first.”</span> your brother whispers in your mind, and his words are a balm – the nymph’s invisible hands release their grip, and you breathe freely once more. You miss him dearly – every day, you pray for him.
The sky above is clear, as you travel the cleanly streets of Phthia, but stormclouds are nonetheless on the horizon – war is coming to Thessaly, just as Hellas is bringing war to the Troad. It is said that one hundred thousand men will travel to Ilion – your brother with them! – and this has not gone unnoticed by the northern barbaroi. You see the preparations everywhere in Phthia – always a military-oriented city, now it positively quakes with the rhythmic pounding of marching soldiers, armorers, and shipbuilders. Peleus is no fool, despite his advanced age – a storm is coming, while Hellas' fighting men are in the Troad – and it will come to your οἶκος as well.
You remember the man you freed from Damachides’ clutches – Pyraechmides, his name – and wonder where he has gone…
>cont
