Quoted By:
You have found Phoinix to be trim, attentive, and professional, as you had explained your need of a new steward, and he shared a rejoinder, his brown eyes shining with polite interest:
“King Peleus has many men who might be of service to you, Deianira. But in what way may you serve Peleus? The appropriate gift will produce the appropriate man.” You respect Phoinix’s frankness – he cuts to the core question without delay.
You consider - King Peleus is wealthy beyond measure, so much so that any Timae you can produce is unlikely to impress him. You briefly consider selling yourself as a bride – an unmarried, beautiful noblewoman with a productive Thessalian estate would be a valuable prize to some young lord of the Phthian court, and therefore politically useful for Peleus – but you discard the possibility immediately. The idea that you would turn over your marriage prospects to an elderly tyrant is laughable – not to mention, your brother, loyal to a fault, has already sworn you an unbreakable vow to deliver your husband, and you fully expect him to do so.
Only your services as a witch and physician might prompt real interest from Peleus – famed and feared as Thessalian witches might be, you know them to be quite uncommon in practice. Very few women have the divine heritage (as you do, albeit indirect and of unclear provenance), the talent and will to weave spells and brew magic potions, and access to a talented mentor to shape the gift. Even to this day, you do not know how your mother, Euanippe, was able to secure the services of Spathion, your dry and humorless witching tutor – or for that matter, the true tale of how your mother managed to escape a crumbling Argos in the devastation of the failed war that killed your father. As an adult woman, you now see that it must have been a desperate flight through Hellas - a widow pregnant with one of the last true Argive heirs, and in her arms, a bawling daughter of three. You wonder -
You suddenly remember where you are - Phoinix still awaits your answer. Your words spill forth in the clear tones of a singing bird, and you state the truth simply:
“I am a witch, King Phoinix, and can provide King Peleus with all manner of spells and potions.”
Phoinix allows himself a raised eyebrow – appreciation for your own directness, you suspect, before he asks -
“And have you brought a selection of your wares to display for your King?”
