who outranked whom, who liked soft bread and who the crust, which were friends and which loathed each other. The children followed her the way the big dog followed Theseus. Whenever a little one fell or was stung by a bee or stubbed a toe, it was Prokris the child sobbed for and Prokris who could make the hurt go away.
Anytime I could escape from the priestesses' lessons, I fled to the Minos's quarters. I neglected Asterion, visiting him only hastily and infrequently. He was so happy to see me that I felt guilty when I left him looking after me with his huge eyes, and I always swore I would come back and tell him long stories the next day, but I never did.
I had little time at my disposal, in any case, as I often found myself being tutored until night fell. On those days, I imagined Prokris talking and laughing with someone else, and I prayed selfishly that she would not become good friends with one of the Minos's other wives.
Compared with my new friend, the priestesses were dull companions. I had known them my whole life. Priestesses are so powerful that it is allowed to pronounce their names. In addition to the sour Damia and the pleasant but dull Perialla, my mother's attendants were Athis, Meira, Marpessa, Zita, Orthia, Kynthia, Harmonia, Pero, and Kylissa. All were well born. Pero and Kylissa were sisters, born to my mother's mother when she was not Goddess. Orthia and Kynthia too were sisters, and Orthia was the Minos's first wife. She was even older than the Minos, and her mind had turned back into a child's mind, but the ways of Goddess had worn themselves so deeply into her being that she still performed Her rituals flawlessly. Athis had been born to my mother when she was not Goddess and looked very much like her—and like me, I had heard people say.
None of the priestesses were openly unkind to me, but I resented the smile of satisfaction that crossed Damia's shriveled face every time I made a mistake, just as I resented the way Kynthia would roll her eyes and grimace, impatient at my slowness, whenever I had to repeat an action or a prayer.
I loved to make Prokris laugh by telling her about the priestesses. One day, we shared a meal in the shade of the fig tree in the courtyard. Cook had discovered how much Prokris loved squid and octopus. As I hurried through the corridor on my way to meet her, I heard the wet sploosh-sploosh of one of Cook's boys slapping a dead octopus over and over against the hard rock outside the kitchen door to break up its tough fibers before Cook stewed it with vegetables and herbs. I hoped the boy kept at it a long time; I wasn't fond of the dish, but I could eat it if it wasn't too chewy.
I had to wait until the Minos settled down for his afternoon nap, as he didn't like Prokris to spend much time away from him. By the time she arrived, I was so hungry that I didn't care if she served me octopus as tough as seaweed.
It was tender enough, though, and there were also cheese and bread, and olives that had come from Athens with the tribute. I liked their foreign taste. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine I was on a beach in Attika, with its brilliant yellow sands. I wrapped a few in a vine leaf and tucked them into my pouch to take to Asterion later; he loved olives, and he would enjoy this new flavor.
After lunch, we stretched out on cushions next to the western wall, where a little shade fell in the afternoon. It was warm for early spring, but Prokris always preferred to be outside, even dressed in the finery that the Minos lavished on her. On another woman, the heavily embroidered dress and collar after jeweled collar might have looked garish, but Prokris carried them with such grace that even the stiff cloth of her overskirt seemed supple. We each had a cup of wine, well watered as was proper for young ladies, and chatted as we lay back on the grass. We fell silent, and I was drifting off to sleep when Prokris spoke.
"What has Damia been teaching you lately?" Prokris knew Damia well; the old priestess constantly came to the Minos's quarters and told the younger wives how to