Daughter of the Apple

Chapter 1: Nightmare

Serilda awoke from the terrible nightmare.

It is just dream. She told herself. But there was something strange about the the dream. It felt so lifelike. Like it actually happened.

The names... Helen... Andromache... Astyanax... Priam... Hektor... Achilleus... she had heard of them before. A far off memory. A story told in a cold winter's night, sang in her ears. Sweet in its melody, gory in its content. A story told in sleepless nights, from her mother's lips, whispered softly like the gurgling of a clear stream.

The Trojan War.

The name of the story came to her. But why here why now? After all it happened over 400 years ago.

She shook her head trying to rid herself of the gruesome nightmare. But it didn't work. But then again how can you shake your head and expect something to go away. Life wasn't like that. She learnt that the hard way.

She was up...so she might as well get dressed and start on the day's work. She took off her threadbare shift and picked up a pail of cold water washed her face and body. She then put on a long white linen dress with cheap metal clasps at her shoulders that were now rusting, she then tied a belt around her waist. She brushed her thick dark tight curls and tied them up with an old ribbon.

Serilda then made her way to the kitchens. They were not any old kitchens, but those of the King of Sparta, Charilaus. No one was there yet. No one was up. Then again no one had nightmares like she did. She picked up a bowl of grain and went outside.

The soft-clucking of the chickens reached her ears. A rare smile spread across her lips.

After the animals were fed she went back inside. Everyone was getting up now, some were already in the kitchens. Serilda went inside the kitchens.

Medea spotted her and beckoned her over. Medea was a beautiful woman around thirty. She had hair which looked like it was sculpted from a sheet of obsidian. Eyes that were almost violet. A body and face that was said to rival Aphrodite herself. No wonder why the King favoured her over his very own wife. Yet her outside beauty was outweighed by her internal beauty. She was probably the most kindest and motherly out of all the slaves and servants. No wonder why she was in charge.

She gave Serilda basket, three talents of gold and a list.

"Andrea is ill." she said. Andrea was the usual girl who ran down to the market as she was the fastest and sure footed out of them all. Had she been allowed to run with men she would have probably left them in the dust. "I need you to get a few supplies. There will be a feast tonight, a gathering of all the nobles."

There is not may of them thought Serilda yet they hold more power than the rest of Sparta combined.

She nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh and Serilda!" she called. "Use my cloak. I don't want men to cast a bad eye on you."

"Thank you..." answered Serilda as she grabbed the cloak that hung near the door of kitchens, she put it on before rushing out of kitchens, out of the palace and down to the agora.

~~~~~

The smell of first thing that hot her. A pungent mixture good and bad smells. Spices for far off lands mixed with the perfumes of Arabia, fish, meat, vegetables, fruit and sweat. The overwhelming heat made it smell much more worse.

Around her men wearing longs robes or short tunics. Some of the younger ones who were most likely athletes or soldiers walked around with belted leather kilts or were completely naked. Serilda kept her head down. Just walking among them made her feel uncomfortable and somehow violated. There were a few women. But most of them were like her, slave and sometimes servant. The richer more privileged women were back in their homes, preserving their honour.