Out of a thicket of low bushes she ambushed the dawn flowing towards her across the pastures; it was infinitely satisfying to jump out on to it and leap about in the dazzle. Only she was cross with herself for forgetting to bring anything to eat; that wasn’t being like a soldier. Still, over the next ridge was her foster-mother’s farm; she broke herself a big stick and went on, humming and chanting odd bits of things in the way that was so annoying for every one except herself.
Good! they’d been cooking at the farm. She smelt food and cows; there would be milk. She walked without knocking into what seemed a very full room, rather dark after the bright morning outside. Tiasa and the other women all ran round and began touching her; she noticed suddenly that she was as tall as a grown-up now, taller already than some of the helots. There was nothing she was afraid of. They brought her pig’s tripe and bread, and tipped her a bowl of warm milk from the frothy pails. They murmured and stroked her yellow curls, put their fingers through the rings in it. On a low bed in the corner that she had not seen at first was a woman with a young sprawling baby half wrapped in soft rags. She took her bread in her hand and went over to look at them. There was a young man sitting on the edge of the bed stroking the woman’s legs and feet. He did not move. Philylla glanced at him out of the tail of her eye, but her foster-mother ran over and shook her fist at him: ‘Get up, you dog!’
The man looked round and grinned and spoke across her at Philylla: ‘There won’t be any of that soon!—not when we’re all masters, me and him and him. We won’t stand up for you—but for your pretty face!’
Philylla gasped as if she had been ducked, but held up her hand to stop Tiasa from answering for her. The man was half standing now and staring at her, leaning up against one of the house posts; there were two or three others—she couldn’t quite see how many; dark and laughing, they waited for her. The woman on the bed waited, her bare, soiled toes cocked up and still. She said: ‘What makes you speak like that to me?’ Tested, her voice was adequately calm.
‘You know,’ said the man.
She began to feel rather queer; by saying that the man had brought some sort of community between them; it was as if he had dared to touch her face. For a minute she only wanted to smash that community; she heard her foster-mother stirring with shocked and angry eagerness just behind her; and further behind were all the powers of life and death, of prison and torture and abuse when the abused has to stand silent with his hands folded and neck meek. The combined inheritance from father and mother boiled and tossed through her against the helots. Then her own lifted and calming hand stayed her, gave time for the image of Agiatis to come. She felt her blood ebb back into an even flow. She said: ‘You mean, the New Times.’ The helots nodded and murmured and came closer, four young men. Suddenly she gave a little funny sigh and dropped her hand, palm outward; in her own mind she had allowed the community. Then almost immediately she had the experience of pride such as she had never known as a Spartiate by herself. She lifted her head: ‘How did you know that I—follow the King?’
‘Panteus told Phoebis, and Phoebis told us.’
Now smiling and steady she took stock of them. They were tall, broad, three with thick beards, the other younger. She thought she could never have looked at a helot before. She said: ‘Why aren’t you with the army?’
‘We aren’t soldiers, we’re only farmers!’ They laughed.
Her head jerked back to a return of anger. ‘There won’t be room for cowards in the King’s time!’
Before any of the men could answer the woman on the bed swung herself half up on to her elbow: ‘You call them cowards! What have you had to face yourself, my lady?’
‘Well, I know I wouldn’t be a coward!’ said Philylla, suddenly childish again.
The man who had spoken first leant over to the woman: ‘Don’t you tease her,’ he said.
‘She isn’t!’ Philylla said. ‘As if she could!’
Her foster-mother at her elbow spoke comfortably: ‘That’s right, my lamb! Whatever people may say, there’ll always be master and servant.’
But Philylla was not happy. She stood in the middle of the farm-room with the people looking at her, waiting; to cover her embarrassment she finished eating the slice of bread. She wished anything else would happen, a cow jump down the chimney or something.
Then one of the other men began to talk. He said: ‘A hundred years ago my father’s fathers were citizens, like yours. Then there were wars and bad seasons and accidents and too many children. They couldn’t pay their share of the mess. They stopped being citizens. But by blood I’m as much a Spartiate as you, Philylla, daughter of Themisteas. Your father gives me orders now, though; so of course you have a right to call me a coward.’
Philylla felt herself blushing; they had left a large hollow space for her to fill with her answer. She swallowed the last piece of the bread chokingly. Her voice was only a loud whisper. ‘I didn’t know about that.’
But the man went on as if he had not heard. ‘So now I am the same as the slaves; they are my brothers.’
Suddenly Philylla found her voice again. ‘All right, then—will you all be the King’s soldiers in the New Time?’
Something seemed to break and begin to grow clearer. ‘We hope so,’ said the first man.
‘Oh dear,’ said Philylla, ‘I wish I could be too. I’m sorry.’ It was not clear whether she was sorry for being only a girl or for having called them cowards, but the room seemed less full of strained breathings. She moved forward and held out a finger uncertainly towards the baby.
The man sat down again on the end of the bed and began again stroking the woman’s feet. ‘That’s my baby,’ he said, ‘and my woman. She likes having my babies.’ Embarrassed as before, Philylla dropped her finger. The woman was staring at her boldly. She was a solid, handsome woman; her hair was long and greasy and fastened back with big copper and coral pins; she made Philylla feel dreadfully young. The man said: ‘She wants me to put another baby into her. Well, that’s easy done. When we have them we keep them; they work on the land. There’s no fuss about splitting up the estate between them! It was all very well for you, my lady Philylla, being the eldest, but what about your little sisters?’
Philylla didn’t understand; she looked puzzled. She heard her foster-mother say: ‘Ah, be quiet—’ and then the man again: ‘Don’t you know there were three more of you who weren’t allowed to grow up?’
For a moment nothing happened; nothing was conveyed to her mind. Then several things at once rushed out of memory into the front of her consciousness, things she’d heard said and hadn’t attended to—horrid things! ‘Ooh!’ she went, moaning like a little funny bird, ‘ooh—oh!’ She felt Tiasa’s arms round her and the voice she knew. ‘There, there, every one does it—’ and then the man being scolded. She sat down on the edge of the bed; she could smell the milky, live smell of the woman and her baby just beside her; she felt her hand held and patted, she did not even try to draw it away. She didn’t listen to what anyone was saying. At last she looked up and shook herself and said: ‘Let’s talk about something else. Tell me if you have any news later than mine.’ Suddenly she was a general holding an important council with her subordinates.
‘They’re