God Was Busy

Chapter 1

"Die of hunger if you must but never beg another" my father once told me, "Because, nothing—not even death is worse than the prospect of living by anyone other than God," I turned over my father's advice today before I came here for what seems to be the hundredth time in my mind would he have said the same if he saw us like this?

Back then I thought— hoped rather—that I would follow the ways of my father. I hope to live my life with honor the way he did. I hoped that my family would never have to sleep hungry, but I failed. No matter how much I deny it that's what I am — a failure.

A hissing sound of a cat pulled me out of my reverie, fatter than most people I know, his collar inlaid with jewels, his eyes as hollow, full of scorn as the man holding it.

"Name?" the vigil next to the man asked as I stood in front of them in the queue.

"Cassandra Apazoglou,"

"Occupation?"

"Pottery maker,"

"Place of residence?"

"The meadow,"

"Reason for requesting the loan? "He eyed my clothes curiously.

"I intend to acquire enormous wealth," I smiled but his face remained serious forcing me to tell the truth "We haven't eaten enough in two weeks"

"Gods appreciate some extra labor for the honor of construction of the Monuments if only we have some volunteers," He looked at my lean physique and said "Preferably male,"

The man with the cat was still silent but his hollow eyes never left mine so that my own never dared to waver and meet his, his hand moved on the cat in a rhythmic movement, and I was aware of a sensation of discomfort, and of shame.

"These are the only earning hands left in the family," I looked down to avoid the pitiful stare that was about to come.

"I see...." said the Vigile and turned to the man for his approval, he nodded his upper-class inferiorating nod, and the Vigil looked at the guard standing near the mountain of sacks. I can even sell the empty sack for a good price if I get my hands on one of them.

"Gods disapprove of those who do not keep their word," he said as he placed one sack of flour along with the softest bread that smelled like my childhood house in Macedonia in my hand, I held it in my hands as if afraid it would run away and took a bite but the dryness of my mouth made it hard to chew.

"You are blocking the line young Lady," the man standing two men behind me shouted, the vigil pointed to the slavery contract, I dipped my finger in the ink and thumbed on it, and moved stepped aside to let him move forward. All of them looked at me as if I had forgotten something.

"Glory be to the Gods, Glory be to Khufu," I said in the loudest voice I could manage.

I crossed the construction site crawling with laborers headed out for the morning shift of construction with hunched shoulders and slow steps. laborers who don't bother to scrub the dust out of their old tunics, their broken nails, and the lines of their sunken faces.

Even in its unfinished state, I can tell, it will be exactly what King Khufu had predicted, "It will be a monument that can never be surpassed in beauty and splendor, it will display the power of the kingdom of Rhesus."

"I will pay back soon," a screaming voice said "have mercy excellency," but the vigils were forcing him towards the grim-faced prefect with the cat, who looked away which was a code that meant it was time to "punish him for his transgression".

Everyone present witnessed the whipping with horror-stuck eyes, some even counted them, moving their heads with every blow as if they were feeling the pain, I heard two men whispering "This is not fair, we bear the brunt of the farming and these so-called gods take the lion's share of everything we grow."

I can see myself there at the end of this month but I am glad after the whipping at least I will have a job to do or a way to feed my family.

The Prefect doesn't seem to notice the hate-filled eyes of the people around —or he prefers not to. He Only concentrated on the cat in his lap, letting nothing disturb his peace of mind.

Everyone took silent steps toward whatever they were doing before the horrible scream. When I was younger, I scared my mother to death with the things I would blurt out about the Gods who ruled the country Rhesus. Eventually, I understood this could lead us to trouble. I learned to hold my tongue and to do my work quietly in potteries. Make only polite small talk in the shop. Not that many people visited there. Since the arrival of porcelain, and stoneware, no one was interested in our earthenware.

Our house was almost at the edge of the Seam, near the sea. I only have to pass a few miles to reach the scruffy field called the Meadow. I found some Sideritis plants on my way home, it must be my lucky day. Normally, I have to climb high up the mountains to get it. Now I was in a hurry to reach home, if only I could fly there.

Our house was small, with a veranda on two sides and steps leading up to the main door with a beautiful olive tree in the middle.

My brother Marcus looked up from his Papyrus, he was three years younger than me but his mind never grew with his age, and smiled.

I removed his blond hair from his green eyes —he has the same features as me that make us different from these dark-haired people of Rhesus, they make us stand out, remind us every second that we are strangers no matter how long we spend here.

"Are you reading God's mythology again? I asked

He laughed a soft, free laugh that has an element of trust in it and pointed the Papyrus to me. This Papyrus belonged to my father. He carefully made these pages of old parchment and covered them in drawings of the Gods. Neatly handwritten blocks with their names and their history. Unlike most people, he referred to them as kings, never Gods.

As the only reading material left in the house, after my father's death, most of his writings and work were taken to the great library, I used it to teach Marcus how to read it but I hated it, every bit of it but I don't see a point in not using the Gods for entertainment so I started reading for what seemed to become my duty almost every night. I read the chapter on Zeus — the God of the sky and almost rolled my eyes at his bravery, a god so powerful yet his children make us donate most of what we grow on our farms or sacrifice our animals if we want our prayers answered.

My mother knew very well where I got this sack from, and I too chose not to think about it till the end of the month. She had already started to cook with her left hand. She lost her right limb in the attack in which my father was killed. My father hid us under the bed when he heard the loud noises from outside the door. I was fourteen then. Five years later, I still wake up screaming for them to leave him.

Now they won't lend her a loan because she was "unfit to work". Marcus's face looked radiant when he was happy. I wish I could see that look more often. "My mother put a full bowl in front of me, and another half-filled in front of him, knowing I had bet my life on this.

Then she watched him eating hurriedly, throwing some on his tunic with disgust. She thinks my brother is just another mouth to feed, she had once tried to dedicate him to the temple to serve Gods, she says "at least he will have food to eat there,"

But I have seen the children there. The marks of angry hands on their sad faces, the helplessness that has permanently curled their shoulders forward. I could never let that happen to Marcus. Sweet, Marcus, my reason to stay alive in the hardest of times. I exchanged my full bowl with him when mother was looking away.

It was like a feast. We dipped the bread in the olive oil that my mother made from the olive tree in our veranda and drank the green Sideritis tea. We ate until we were all, for the first time in months, full.

"Good day my lady," I heard Hasapis's voice from Veranda, "the Magista wants to have a word with you," he said in the royal accent as he mimicked the elite class of the palace, not that we ever have been there or we will be there but we have seen enough of them and know how they talk.

That was an unusual request, Magista was brought here with my father from the city of Macedonia to teach these rough people, and now after the death of my father, is living with his title. We haven't heard from him since my father's funeral and I wonder why suddenly he remembered me after all these years.

"What is wrong with you? '' I said as I opened the door, He smiled knowing how I hated that accent. "Wait there,"