...Mother Makela was very large. Her enormous bosom and a back bent and burdened with age made her droop like a tree branch encumbered by the weight of an overabundant snowfall. All the younger nuns called her “The Bovine,” behind her back. However, this was one instance where a physical appearance belied the real essence of the person. She was equal to all challenges that her position demanded and, as some reported, was almost a walking encyclopedia.

Still, the younger nuns enjoyed having fun at her expense whenever they could. “What a relief,” one of them said one day, “that Mother Makela doesn’t care for any of the newfangled brassieres that are all the rage in the outside world!” In this regard, the young nun was perceptive. It was one of the signs of Mother Makela’s wisdom that she preferred “The Flat Look.” The alternative would have been too scary to imagine!

As Mother Makela was making her way to the Common Room to begin her lecture, Mother Kallista felt an urge to remind her of the new format but thought better of it. She decided she would stay close by and fill in any missing pieces as the lecture progressed.

“Isn’t it true,” asked a young man from Rome, “that Zeus founded the Olympic Games?”

A fit of anger seized Mother Makela, but she managed to control herself. She cast an accusatory glance at Mother Kallista. In previous years, this kind of question would never have been asked because she would have already delivered a background lecture about how, when Hera descended from Mount Olympus, she established her rule over the Olympian Mountains and Valley and was variously referred to as Olympian Gê, being the oldest goddess in that sanctuary and how she had previously fought and overcome Poseidon and thus became known as Hippodamia, the Subduer of the Horse, the horse being Poseidon. Also, she would have debunked the idea that Pelops, a demi-god, founded the Games when, in fact, he was universally known as a usurper. Even those who knew that Hera had once taken him and Zeus under her wing, in her capacity as the patron goddess of Mycenae and what came to be known erroneously as the Peloponnesus peninsula, did not confuse the issues. They knew who the originator was—Hera. Finally, Mother Makela would have underlined the fact about how, after Hera had founded the Games, she made the mistake of marrying Zeus, who created the gender inequities that have remained the shame of societies everywhere in the universe.

She answered calmly, “Not so. Hera descended onto the earth and founded the Games. She organized racing events as a four-yearly festival, with the assistance of sixteen matronly widows, sixteen respectable married women, and sixteen young maidens. Hera’s grievous mistake was marrying Zeus, allowing him to co-rule the Valley, and commingling her vast possessions with the paltry chattel he brought into the union. She even shared her very first temple with him. It was Zeus that created and bequeathed the horrible legacy of cheating, abusing, and oppressing womankind. ...”

...Elektra’s group took full advantage of the unease in the assembly. A woman, who identified herself as Opis, stood up and said, “We want you to know that a key pillar of our Manifesto is that men should have absolutely nothing to do with this organization. We need to find and use our own voices. Men can never speak for women because they can never understand how women feel. They’ve never been humiliated, excluded, abused, degraded, and denied. They’ll eventually sell out. You all know the saying, ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself.’ You’ve all been warned.”...

...“Will Hera blast me, as Zeus would, or wreak vengeance on my seeds forever and ever if I can’t or won’t fulfill all these promises?” Aliki asked.

“Hera is not, definitely not, like that mean-spirited women-hating god who brags about inflicting vengeance on generations of innocent people and their seeds forever, for the transgression of a single family member,” Mother Kallista responded forcefully.

“She’s referring to the mythic father-god-creator,” Sister Herodota explained. “There are a number of yarns about him, all consistent in their woman-as-appendage belief system. According to this god’s propagandists, some of whom are revered as great philosophers and icons of religiosity, women are mere appendages to men, afterthoughts, sub-species. The father-god myth spawned mega-cults, centered around the son-god, god’s messenger, new-son-god, and others.”

“With all due respect, Sister Herodota, the son-god was not a myth,” Dorcas countered. “He had real parents. He was a humble, peaceful, and compassionate man, who was misunderstood because his male followers created him in the image of the father-god, whom men have always found more appealing because he stokes their inner perverseness, which mirrors his own.”

“Did the son-god believe in the woman-as-appendage idea?” Serena asked.

“The son-god was a product of his culture; that culture created the father-god myth. However, he was known to have respected women, his mother and female followers in particular,” Sister Herodota replied.

“But his male followers would have none of that,” Dorcas said. “One of his lady followers wrote a book, analyzing and interpreting his teachings. Her male counterparts challenged her worthiness to be his spokesperson and subverted her work on the basis of gender bias. Their spiritual descendants have continued to dismiss it as ‘non canonical.’”

“And the messenger-god?” someone asked.

...“How on earth can women embrace male gods, the gods of their enslavers and continue to suffer indignities?” someone cried out in agony. ...

...“Have they never heard of the commandment, ‘Do unto them before they do unto you, again’? Or the adage, ‘There’s strength in numbers?’ There must be billions of these man-god worshiping women out there. Send in the Widows!” Serena exclaimed.

“The Widows!” “The Widows!” the young women clamored, “Send in the Widows!” “The Widows to the rescue!”.... “Midnight Widows to the rescue!” Elektra and Serena said simultaneously.

...
                       Don’t speak the vernacular.
                       Do your studies and chores as scheduled
                       everyday.
                       Cleanliness is REALLY next to godliness.
                       Don’t lend and don’t borrow.
                       Follow through on your goals.
                       Practice teamwork.
                       Discipline yourself.
                       Respect yourself and respect others.
                       Treat others as you would want to be treated.
                       Don’t wear big jewelry.
                       Always knock before you enter.
                       No food in the dormitory.
                       Don’t write on furniture.
                       Don’t use abusive language.
                       No fighting.
                       No slouching.

...As the women approached the Council House a few days later, the lawmakers fled in all directions the moment they determined that the intruders were old women.

First of all, no self-respecting men would be caught dead speaking to women in public, except, of course, when haggling in front of the numerous publicly funded brothels that thrived everywhere, modeled after the great statesman, Solon’s whorehouses in Athens. Second, old women were to be avoided at all costs because, it was believed, anyone of them could be an incarnation of the dreaded Great Goddess. ...

...Just then, an assorted gang of merchants came streaming out of the Council chambers, money bags conspicuously in hand, shouting and vying for the President’s attention, “We have these, President, and there’s much more where they came from,” some particularly aggressive lobbyists shouted.

“They are monkeys on your backs, you warmongering apes!” Lidia said, facing the President and his deputy.

‘‘Warmongering Apes!” ‘‘Warmongering Apes!” “Warmongering Apes!” “Monkeys on your backs!” “Monkeys on your backs!” “Monkeys on your backs!” ‘‘Warmongering Apes!” ‘‘Warmongering Apes!” the women chanted, forcing Dromeus to signal the lobbyists to retreat deep into the corridors of power. ...

...Solon covered his ears and said, “Go back where you came from. Go back to Sparta.”

“I am an Olympian now. I’m on the world stage. You don’t own this stage, and you certainly don’t own me. Besides, my Diogenes’s ancestors settled here long before yours. There!” Sofia replied.

As he started making his way back into the Council chambers, Apollonia grabbed his peplos and said, “Not so fast, Solon. You will hear us out.”

The sight of the centenarian so close made Solon cringe. It was quite a spectacle, watching the frail but determined woman cling tenaciously to the burly Solon, who was trying desperately to pry open her fingers to free his robe.

“Take your claws off me, you Medusa,” Solon shrieked with a mixture of fear and disgust. ...

...“You want to be men and destroy the family system and family values as Zeus ordained them,” the chief priest of Zeus shrieked on top of his lungs. He had been meeting with some councilmen from various cities and states, including Athens, who were also Olympic League members, just before the confrontation began. He felt compelled to throw the weight of his authority behind the lawmakers.

Sofia replied, “No, you’re totally wrong about that, Chief Priest. We don’t want to be men. We are women. We are champions of the family. The real issue is autonomy or the lack of it in this case. We refuse to let people like you tell us how to run our lives. We’re not chattels. We’re adults and responsible people. Stay out of our lives, especially, out of our wombs, where your noses don’t belong...”

...Lidia was the first to read the headline that screamed, “Little Prince, A Disaster.” She thought she remembered the story but had to read it again to recall the details. Princess Urbana’s husband was drunk in his mistress’s villa one night when he heard the news of his son’s birth and predicted that the boy would be a disaster to the world, as should be expected of the fruit of the union between him and the princess.

“Who was the child”? Lidia asked Sofia, while trying to recall the information on her own.

“The current Emperor, Magnus Caesar, that’s who,” Sofia responded. ...

Princess Urbana had been having sex with her brother, who had now usurped the throne, even though it was common knowledge that he was insane. Her second husband had died suddenly under suspicious circumstances, in which she was implicated. Her brother, the Emperor, then banished her to an island because he suspected she was planning to poison him. When the princess went into exile, she was so penniless that she was forced to leave her three-year-old son in the care of a Greek ballet dancer, who dyed his hair flaming red and wore lip rouge.

“A fine mentor for a young child!” Apollonia quipped. ...

...Under the confident eyes of Zeus and the rebellious and watchful eyes of Hera, the athletes, men and boys, their well-oiled naked bodies glistening in the sun, their arms raised up to the sky, partly in piety, and partly in compliance with the League’s final order, designed to ensure that they weren’t hiding small weapons in their armpits, took their oaths in a cacophonous chorus:

                           We are free-born Greeks
                           Without taint or suspicion
                           Of abominable crimes or sacrilege
                           Against fellow citizens, priests, and gods.
                           We do not traffic in contraband.
                           Nor have we ever partaken of unlawful infusions.
                           We have trained for the full ten months
                           in Elis as mandated.
                           We have trained for two years
                           Prior to presentation in Olympia.
                           We promise to play clean and fair.
                           So help us Zeus. ...

...A concourse of female humanity had massed near the two grassy embankments closest to the Judges’ Building for several hours. Hundreds of thousands of them had risked death, crossing mountains, forests, and seas to be there. Several carried torches. Several carried exposure pots. Most carried figurines of Midnight Widows. ...

...When Elektra and her troupe moved to widen the paths, the women’s shrieks reached to the highest dome of heaven. Elektra raced unhindered to the epicenter of one of the “Sacred Grounds,” Stadium Two.

There, she stood, like a rock. Then she made a thousand expansive gestures, closing her hands as if in prayer, hoisting the closed hands to the furthest reaches of Mount Olympus, smashing the air before her in a most dramatic downward ritual movement and inviting the crowd to do the same. Shouts of “Bona Dea!” “Bona Dea!” boomed, as though from a million enraptured worshipers.

In the theater that was born, the actors knew their lines and their dramatic gestures. Several women carried effigies of three men and a woman into center stage to the deafening roar of orgiastic voices. The men were unmistakably Zeus, Aristotle, and Herakles. Their postures, as depicted in popular drawings, identified them, even to the youngest person in the crowd.

Elektra announced that Zeus’s crimes were too numerous to recount. So, she and her group would not waste time enumerating them all, but it was important to state that he originated and nurtured the perpetration and perpetuation of discrimination and oppression against girls and women and was, not only the usurper of all of Hera’s land and rituals, but also the instigator of the usurpation by men of all the institutions and religions founded by women.

She put a noose around his neck and hanged him. The crowd roared its approval, with thousands wailing for sheer joy that as far as they were concerned, formerly mighty, old Zeus was dead to them, for good!

As for Aristotle, his major crime, Elektra underlined, was his callous insensitivity to the plight of women and his faulty logic that had subjected girls and women to oppression for generations. Even though he had written, “You can’t live a good life in an unjust society,” and knew that women were treated like slaves and their efforts to throw off their yoke thwarted by men’s laws, he refused to condemn the unjust society that denied women the good life. He had defended his position, she stressed, by explaining that the condition of slavery was the natural condition of all females and that by their own passive acceptance of their condition, they themselves had validated his findings and conclusions.

Here’s the man the whole world refers to as ‘The King of Logic,’ ‘The Emperor of Syllogism.’ What’s logical about flawed premises, sweeping generalizations, and ad feminam attacks?” Elektra asked.

Several replied, “Nothing,” while those who either didn’t hear her clearly, or didn’t understand what she meant by those terms yelled, “Hang him! Hang him! Just hang him!”

Finally, she announced that she was compelled to remind the women that Aristotle had also published information that characterized women as lacking valor. She then asked, “Have you ever seen anything as valiant as what we’ve done so far and what we have in store for them?”

The crowd roared, “Never! Hang him! Hang him! Just hang him!”

She hanged him.

Their applause and cathartic shrieks resounded throughout the world and rose to the roof of heaven and measureless miles beyond. The shrieks were not for themselves alone. They were for the millions upon millions of others who would hear the echoes in ages to come, thanks to the Chroniclers.

They sang and danced in wild ecstasy, “Zeus is dead, dead, dead! Aristotle is dead, dead, dead!”

When the actors dragged Herakles to center stage, the women greeted him with boos and curses. Then a deafening silence followed. The spectators intimated that they knew what was going to happen. The point, however, was that they didn’t quite know. ...

...Within the stretch of land that held Artemis’s shrine stood some grim-looking statues. One showed her sitting on a majestic throne, presiding over vast human sacrifices. Each man was on his knees, shaved head bowed, and behind him, an ax-wielding Midnight Widow, shrouded except for an appropriately placed slit, showing her massively merry grin. On one altar were terra cotta sculptures of what looked like millions of naked men, hands tied behind their backs, being lashed by shrouded Widows, with countless other Widows cheering them on. There were three other representations of her. In one, she was a huntress, wearing a flowing peplos with a belt of snakes, carrying a bow and quiver, and accompanied by a dog and a deer. In another corner of the altar, she was represented as a woman with many breasts and enormous feet of clay. In her final representation, she was a sea captain, a spitting image of Captain Karina. ....

...At the mention of the word, “exterminating,” alarms sounded in every head.

Onomastus was about to become the hero of the millennium.

The assembly praised him for his service to the land and decided then that they were bound, by everything sacred to them, to treat the women like felons, for plotting to bring about the extinction of the family. This was against the law. The society, they pointed out, had punished severely even males who had chosen perpetual celibacy. Therefore, these women deserved to be hanged.

The fact that society had never punished any of the warmongering male leaders, who had led millions of their living, breathing, fellow citizens to brutal and untimely deaths and continued to do so, did not bother them. It was safer and more salable to the masses to raise hell about women who did not wish, or no longer wished, to be mothers and took action to protect themselves.

“My father and his fathers before him would have responded to all these misbehaviors with ‘Let them vegetate,’” Solon said, “and to that I add, none of them is beyond the whip or being put six feet under. The Alpheus and the Kladeus are much deeper than that at their shallowest. You all know what to do. The Games must go on. We will not be shamed before the whole world by misguided female felons,” he declared, as he hurried out of the Gymnasium. ...

...The first wave of real violence came from a group that was later known as the “Sons of Zeus.” They struck at night, terrorizing and attacking defenseless women and children. At first, they targeted leaders of the women’s movement. They set the fire that burned down the pottery shed in Sofia’s home and would have engulfed the entire house but for Theophilus’ quick action and some neighbors’ generous help. What was most surprising to many women was the pattern of attack—how their attackers seemed to have appeared from nowhere; how they plugged their mouths with rags, bound them with ropes, and dragged them towards some river, stream, or public wells before they were rescued. ...

...Cassandra and her colleagues, together with an unusually large number of women and girls, flooded the House of Healing in Olympia for Olympica’s funeral and confronted Ariana and a handful of women who described themselves as “the elite females of society.” Olympica’s family had been patrons of the Games for generations, but she had withdrawn her patronage and dedicated her family’s fortune to the support of the women’s movement. At the time of her death, the Women’s Ecclesia saw her as likely to “give the Games” when women finally won their right to compete in Olympia.

So, it was most appropriate that a group of women known as “Keepers of the Flame” should instigate here the shaming tactic they’d developed and used successfully elsewhere against women, whose husbands had built huge fortunes on the backs of the poor, mostly women, and had some control over the wealth but refused to even acknowledge that women suffered any wrongs that needed rectifying.

“You’re frauds,” Cassandra’s group said to Ariana and her clique, blocking their way as they tried to move closer to the bier where Olympica was lying in repose.

“You’re all living a lie, and you know it,” pursued Rhoda.

“So, you sit back and enjoy the fruits of other people’s sweat and struggles. None of you will lift a finger to help out,” Cassandra accused.

“You collude with your husbands to oppress women and to profiteer from wars of aggression that kill our sons,” Thea complained. “That’s unforgivable.”

When several women took turns spitting on them to register their utter disgust, Ariana and her friends started bawling and running helter-skelter, looking for ways to escape. When they noticed a door leading to the courtyard, they ran in that direction, but immediately fell into the prickly arms of professional mourners who, recognizing Ariana and her friends and realizing at once that they were in trouble, immediately suspended their already-paid-for wailing and blocked the gate that opened to a public road. After they had cheerfully and effectively delivered the despised women into the vengeful hands of their tormentors, they filed into the house, with long, drawn faces and resumed their lamentations, pulling their hair and beating their breasts.

“When you sit in your overstuffed chaise and gaze into your Corinthian mirror every morning, whom do you see?” demanded Cassandra, as she planted her imposing frame firmly in front of Ariana, who was now completely surrounded.

“Do you really see every Greek woman in that mirror?” Antigone asked.

Ariana was bright, but in her present state of siege, she didn’t know what that question meant, and she thought she had better not say anything.

She looked around for a friendly face, including her chief slave woman, but saw none.

“Your precious little husband has fourteen concubines here in the Peloponnesus and many more in Athens,” Mynna taunted.

The young women laughed uproariously. Some of them called out, “Let’s take care of Empress Ariana and her little friends right here and now.”

Athina and Diana grimaced. Diana turned to Athina and some of their schoolmates and asked, “Aren’t the teachers going too far with this shaming strategy?”

“Every woman and girl must pitch in,” Athina said. “These prominent women can’t sit on the sidelines and have other people do all the work—their work! That said, I still feel sorry for them. There must be other ways to reach them.”

“This way is as good as any,” Sarapiona said. “Some people can’t respond to gentle persuasion. They must be forced to see the light.”...

...Penelope suspended the girls’ training for some time and arranged a meeting of the Ecclesia at the Sports Center. Every member of the movement, young and old, knew the creed by heart:

                            A person who cedes control of her body and
                            its functions to others is not much of a human
                            being.
                            She is property. A chattel.
                            I am not a chattel. ...

...“Read out the list, Epeius,” the Magistrate ordered.

The Chief of Police read the list, pausing after each punishment:

“Stop right there! That’s a barbaric Roman punishment, which is unbecoming of a great democratic and holy nation like ours,” the Magistrate pronounced.

The punishment of the sack entailed scourging a defendant or even a mere suspect, sewing him in a leather sack with a dog, a viper, or an ape, and then throwing him into a river or sea.

The Magistrate didn’t explain why he thought this punishment was more barbaric than being drawn and quartered or being pressed to death, for example.

“Go on,” the Magistrate barked.

“Enough,” the Magistrate ordered. “Make all necessary arrangements, and we shall proceed as planned,” he told the anxious councilmen.

A week later, in response to the order sent out by the Elean and Pisatan Councils on the subject of “A Public Exercise of Justice,” heads of households assembled on the banks of the Alpheus. They brought their wives and all other adult females under their authority, including their mothers, widowed aunts, and all their slave women. The order stated that the exercise was for their own protection. ...

...Phortikos, a professional jester, struck a gong to arrest the attention of his assorted brothers after yodeling had failed to do the trick. Then he announced, “Twelve reasons why women should stay banned from our preeminent Olympic Games.”

“And from all the gymnasia in the land,” interrupted Homer, another known clown.

“And from the face of the earth,” several shouted.

Phortikos replied, “Yes, from all those places,” and then quickly continued with his presentation, gesturing as if he was actually reading from a list.

“Number one, their backsides are designed for sitting down—in the kitchen!”

A wild roar erupted.

“That was a good one,” said Agamemnon, whose father was a tyrant.

“What a gem that was!” Homer added. “Where did you dig that one from?”

“From the writings of a holy man, a religious reformer named Lutheros,” he replied, ready to convince everyone this Lutheros was a widely respected authority on women.

“Wise man,” the group chorused. “Great leader.” Then they applauded ecstatically.

“Number two,” Phortikos announced quickly before the show could degenerate into political discussions about Lutheros, his doctrines, his followers, and other matters associated with him.

“Number two, they are inferior creatures—their bodies are hairless. We, as superior beings, are magnificent in our luxuriant bodily cloak.”

A spontaneous, wild, chest-thumping ritual dance broke out, accompanied by the “We Have This. They Don’t Have This” sing-song and the pulling and caressing of hirsute body parts.

Sister Herodota later added a notation to this part of one of her manuscripts: “Like their brothers, the monkeys and other members of the great Simian race!”

“Number three,” Phortikos screamed, running up and down the halls, trying to corral them back into the original, manageable space.

“Number three,” he announced again, “their bones are so delicate they’d break if we were to allow them to sit down on rough and hard surfaces in the men’s gymnasium.”

Another collective hee-haw followed.

“Number four, they’re the only ones with the itch— feminine itch.”

The loudest laughter yet greeted this comment. Then some animated discussions followed.

“Have you ever heard of a man having an itch in any part of his body?” Agamemnon asked. To reinforce the answer he expected to hear, he added, “Check out all the itch medicines in the agora or in any apothecary’s stall. You’ll not find a single one made for men.”

“Of course not,” several of them said simultaneously.

“And why not?” Sklêropaiktês encouraged.

He answered his own question with a sly expression on his face, “It’s simple. Masculine itch does not exist. That’s why not.”

Some lively discussions followed.

Phortikos interrupted them and said impatiently, “That’s the problem with you Greeks. Should you always be disputing something? Listen to the next one.”

“Number five, ...

...On the last day, the fathers had their right ears cut off and their nostrils seared with hot irons before they were let off with a warning that they would be hanged the next time they were caught aiding and abetting female criminals.

The fact that they were men and had a right to legal recourse, including a trial, meant nothing in this case.

...The soldiers, who had perfected the art of self-induced deafness after having tuned out the most horrific, blood-curdling sounds of dying children, women, and the disabled in battle, were totally unaffected by the sounds coming from thousands of horror-stricken women all around them.

They loosened Melina and flung her body aside. They grabbed several more prisoners and dumped them into the river maniacally. Each time, women’s cries reached a petrifying intensity.

As they were about to grab more victims, the soldiers looked around and saw an ocean of wild and furious women rushing at them. They glanced at one another. Then they looked for the Magistrate. When they saw him fleeing and, sensing imminent death that could be gorier than anything they themselves had ever inflicted, they threw themselves into the river, not giving any thought to whether or not they could swim, preferring to risk death by drowning to being torn to shreds by a pack of vengeful women. ...

...Athina had run back, crying and saying, “Macaria called me a roughneck.” Athina did not quite understand the full implications of the name she was called, but she was bright enough to know it wasn’t complimentary.

Theodora had flown out of her shed and rushed across the narrow patch that separated their two homes to confront Macaria.

“Why are you interfering with my daughter’s life? I want you to leave her alone. I don’t need an ignorant cow like you telling me how to raise my child,” she had yelled.

It was very uncharacteristic of Theodora to behave like that. And she would not have been that angry if the matter had not involved Athina.

Macaria had yelled back, “You’re the ignorant one. You let your baby girl loose. She’s all over the place hopping, kicking like a pankratiast, leaping and galloping like a wild horse instead of sitting quietly like a sweet little girl....”

Theodora had interrupted her and said, “Mind your own business from now on, or you’re going to find yourself in a lot of trouble.”

Macaria had screamed at her saying, “What are you going to do? Take me before the Council? I dare you to do that, you wild, ignorant woman. You’re ignorant of the gender of the child you’re raising. You don’t dress her like the girl that she is. Shame on you,” Macaria had added, thrusting her chest forward in a show of faith in her own child rearing methods and what good parenting should entail.

“My child has my permission to play anywhere in this neighborhood that she chooses. She can slide, kick, walk, run, or fly if she so desires. And she can do all of these things and more with whomever she wants. You can drown your daughter in a shroud and bind her feet, to boot. That’s your problem. I know she will despise you when she grows up and realizes how you limited her life,” Theodora said, as she started to walk back to her house.

Then Macaria had shot back, “You’re raising a girl, not a boy, in case you don’t know. You don’t protect her as I do my Myrrah. You’re a very bad mother, and I don’t mind saying it to your face. And, by the way, I know many other women agree with me on that.” ...

...Athina decided to join Myrrah to find out what she wanted. “Where do you find the time for all the things you do?” Myrrah asked, searching Athina’s face for clues. She seemed genuinely baffled.

Athina didn’t quite know what to say to her. Myrrah, like many girls outside the orbit of the Ecclesia, was a prisoner of fabricated life. She could not know more than what she’d been taught by her mother, a fellow prisoner. So, how should she answer her question?

“There’s enough time in the day to do all kinds of things,” she began, now feeling pity for the dwarfish Myrrah.

“Do you do chores?” she asked.

“You couldn’t live in this house and not do chores, I can tell you that much; if you tried, you’d be skinned alive, believe me,” Athina said, smiling.

Myrrah was not so stupid as not to know that Athina was joking, although she had heard a lot of horror stories about Sofia and her family. They were trouble makers; “rabble rousers” she said in her mind. Her father had used that exact phrase to describe them many times in the past, though not lately. She wondered why not but dared not ask him.

“So, what exactly do you do, as far as chores go?” she pursued.

Athina explained, “When I’m home from school where I live at least six months a year, I do everything. Everyday, I sweep the whole house, including the whole courtyard and this shed. I help grow our gardens, I cook and clean up in the kitchen. I work in my family’s pottery business. Of course, I practice my sports for hours everyday, whether I’m home or at school. That keeps me very, very busy. At school, I do much more. I’m a ‘Head Girl.’ ” ...

...Athina replied, “Keep asking questions—of yourself and of other people, people who can give you the kind of future you deserve. There’s a whole new world out there, outside our homes and outside Olympia, even outside Greece, where there are as many exciting, intriguing, and valuable answers as there are stars in the sky.”

...At that point, the girls heard Myrrah’s father’s very angry voice calling her. She had a dread and then a smile on her face as she ran, as if for her life, and disappeared into the pitch darkness that separated them.

...A deluge of women stormed the Hera House that night, using make-shift ladders to clamber in through its high windows. Some of them nervously dug into the folds of their tattered and soiled garments and retrieved their terracotta Widows, while some began chanting Mother Kallista’s name—“Kalli!” “Kalli!” “Kalli!” “Kalli!”

Cassandra and her nun-impersonating group accessed the House through the wide-open front gate that should have been immediately closed firmly behind them. They quickly took their positions among the refugees and began congratulating, lecturing, and exhorting them. As soon as Mother Kallista appeared, those with Widows at the ready raised them up and waited. A reciprocal gesture on Mother Kallista’s part would have completed the ritual they had in mind, but that was not to be, and whatever setback that might have signified quickly evaporated when Mother Kallista launched into an act that Mother Makela later described as crowning the younger nun’s illustrious public service.

“I warmly and respectfully salute you, my sisters and friends, humanists,” she began. “I know why you have come to ‘The Big House on the Hill of Kronus.’ It is because we and you have walked through the fire of gender and class antagonism together, even if separately. We have the same familiar history.”

She scanned the battle-worn faces by the flickering lanterns hanging all over the huge basement of the House and felt she wasn’t quite connecting with them. They didn’t seem to get the parallel she was trying to draw between religious and lay women fast enough.

Then she had a sudden shot of inspiration. At that very moment, Cassandra, who had made her way to Mother Kallista, whispered some extensive information, including the fact some of the women before her were alumnae of Hera Academies from far and near. Palpable dead silence ensued. All eyes were focused on the two for the duration of their talk. In the end, Mother Kallista won the right to proceed.

“There’s a world of difference between a light summer shower, a waterfall, and a deluge. We all know the one that cleanses and forces a new beginning. You have done monumental deeds. Valiant deeds. You are heroes. Liberators. You are heroes and liberators because you firmly believe in the noble idea that your sacrifices for the greater good is worth more than personal relationships. Who has the power to do much more for the greater good of the oppressed in the whole universe? You! How many of you attended the national emancipation protest?” she asked.

They all raised their hands—showing more Widows than before. Some volunteered the information that every woman and girl they knew had also attended.

“All right,” Mother Kallista said, beaming, “by your bold and noble action on that holy day, you and yours have shown very clearly that you want to be the propellers of our common destiny. The House of Hera cannot, and will not always, be the trigger. And why not? You know what you want. What we all want. We want autonomy, the power to be self-directed. To be independent in our thoughts and actions. We want economic, cultural, intellectual, and spiritual autonomy—having complete dominion over our own human and natural resources so we could develop and nurture all of our competencies and all possible states of being.

We want them to break down every barrier in our way. Every prejudice, blatant or hidden. And if they won’t, you will. You! You sleep in their beds. You cook their meals. We, at the House, are only a handful of ordinary women, secluded from the world. You are out there, in the trenches of the world. You are legion. Battalions. Cavalries. Faithful foot soldiers. You have the power! ...

...Some so-called philosophers have argued that in order to eliminate suffering, borne of imposed inequities, why not wipe out the problem—meaning, the impoverished, the exploited, the denied, the untreated sick, the voiceless, the dispossessed, the disenfranchised, the landless, the wrongfully imprisoned, the widows, the orphans, the aged, the mentally ill, the starvelings, and other ‘appendages,’ a term which, in regions inhabited by fanatical sadists, refers to girls and women. Because these untold billions of people suffer and are unhappy, the philosophers reason, their lives are not worth living, so let them suffer, wither, and die!”

“Shame!” “Shame!” “Shame!” they roared.

“Widows to the rescue! Widows to the rescue! Warrior Widows to the rescue!” Cassandra and her group chanted.

The Widows joined the demonstration, waving their symbols in the air.

“Stop and think,” Mother Kallista pursued. ...

...When Rome blitzed Corinth mercilessly, she knew full well that the scope of the war to annex the rest of Greece would be very limited. The Greek states’ immediate concern was to protect and defend Olympia, particularly her shrines and the sites and traditions of the pre-eminent Games. Survivors of “The Widows’ Offensive” combed every nook and corner of every community, looking for able-bodied men but were met with cries of “Hellas’s true sons are no more;” “the hearts of the homes have been silenced;” “Hellas has swallowed her sons.” “Dead men don’t fight.” “The cream is gone forever; only the dregs, the apostates, the heretics are left;” and other lamentations. ...

...The Roman upper class showed its disgust for the visiting Greeks by keeping their young sons and daughters locked in. They were afraid that all the Greek athletes were homosexuals, products of the sexual cesspool they called the gymnasium. They wore masks to protect themselves against strange diseases, which they proclaimed the Greek athletes were carrying. The claims were baseless, of course, but they hung on to them—they were Romans. Imperialists.

Visiting contingents heard the words, “Homines feri et barbari” (ferocious and barbaric peoples) very frequently among the Roman upper class before whom the visitors were exhibited. They used the slur freely to describe a whole range of people they called the “Barbarians of the North, East, South, West and Center.”

The Germans: “Fierce killers. Their women foolishly prefer mass suicide to the benefits of our great civilization. They dwell in huts with thatched roofs and live off their goats like savage nomads.” The Gauls: “Cunning. Always speaking with forked tongues.” The northern Celts: “Lilylivered.” The Britons: “The most barbaric of all. They didn’t know how to make cheese, even though they had cows. They didn’t grow gardens until we forced them to. They had neither roads nor real cities until we civilized them.” The Celt-Iberians: “They wash in cow urine. When defeated in battle, they sing at the stakes before they are crucified. Their women slaughter their own children and sleep with the corpses for days before burying them.” The barbarians of the Center: “Not at all great! What good are pyramids? Worthless artifacts! (We could build a so-called Great Pyramid in seven days if we wanted to). Their children run around naked. They all eat crocodiles!” The barbarians of the East: “They slaughter their daughters, eat dogs, cats, and worms. Their male progenitors descend from fleas and lice that were shaken off by their male gods….”

Sister Herodota noted in the margin of the relevant manuscript, “The portrayal of men as descended from fleas and lice represents the most authentic explanation of the nature of this species. ...

...Sofia saw in all the events of conquest, occupation, corruption, abuse of power, and wholesale disregard for life and individual right to true freedom and happiness, a recurring pattern. “I’ve been around, and I’ve seen it all before,” she would say over and over again when talking privately or publicly.

While many people did not deny the reality of a new wave of degeneracy in society, they convinced themselves that there was an exemplary group whose sense of morality was intact. Sofia did not dispute this. What she disputed was the identity of the group. In her view, those calling themselves “The Moral Force,” “The Ethical Majority,” “The Born Again Sons of Zeus,” “The Patriotic Rally Behind the Flag,” and innumerable others were the very cesspool of every iniquity that plagued society. Collectively, Mammon was their God. Besides, they were hypocrites. They sowed the seeds of their corruption, ignorance, and hate among the slow-to-learn populace and escaped into their gold-lined cocoons, from where they emerged seasonally to make hollow statements about morality, law and order, the sanctity of life, and whatever other catchphrases promoted their selfish ambition.

She saw nothing in the character or examples of any of these groups that was worthy of emulation. She shuddered at their incessant moralizing, which was always at odds with their everyday actions. Also, she contrasted the values of ordinary people with those of the Emperor and his henchmen, who were devastating the world while paying lip service to freedom and civilization. “When the head is rotten, the imperatives to rescue the body are clear,” she said. She thought of Solon, the Emperor, and their ilk around the world. Apollonia’s favorite phrase, “days of reckoning,” also came to mind.

Just as she was ruminating on the whirlwind of events in the world and trying to get dinner ready, Herodicus strutted into her home. ...

...Cassandra noticed that the centenarian, Apollonia, had a beatific smile on her face that suggested she found the idea of being raised to the rank of a deity very attractive. They exchanged knowing glances.

Then Apollonia said, “If my memory serves me right, it was Athina that first spoke to me about demanding cauldrons, instead of trays. She explained that if they were good enough for the deities, they were good enough for girls and women. Very profound. Very appropriate. We must have cauldrons; no more silly trays. And I don’t care if they’re made of the most precious stones. No more trays.”

“We shouldn’t try to change everything overnight,” one Ecclesia member objected. ...

...Before Petros could express his own concern, Kreon hollered to him to get busy with the fire. He immediately understood what he needed to do and why. He moved briskly to gather large quantities of dry brush and leaves. Athina followed suit as Petros explained that the ritual was based on the belief in immortality for heroes through death and resurrection. “It has to do with Elysion,” he whispered.

“Do girls and women go there?”

“Of course not. Only heroes,” he said.

“Including horses?” she asked.

“Male horses, of course,” he answered.

She looked him in the eye and said, “Catechesis. You are not reasoning. You’re just regurgitating what you’ve been fed, as usual”. ...

...“The Great Goddess was the original horse tamer and healer. Long before Hera. Long before the forbiddings. We, uh, men do the ritual now,” Kreon volunteered.

“Why’s that, Great-Uncle Kreon?” Athina queried.

“We just do. It’s a very long story,” he said, changing the subject. ...

...As preparations for the Emperor’s visit became feverish, the Women’s Ecclesia created an independent body called the Inspectorate and charged it with working directly with the students and their coaches.

The Inspectorate had a revolt on its hands immediately. ....

...The girls walked out of the room without any further comments, but it was clear to the Inspectorate that it would have to take them seriously. After all, the Ecclesia created and nurtured them.

...Athina thought the time had come to educate Petros about her personal philosophy. To her, remaining a virgin was not an aberration. It was something over which she had control. She had always believed, even before it had become a daily topic of discussion among the girls at school, that people’s ability to control their natural urges was what separated them from dogs and other lower animals. ...

...Petros had been thinking about Athina since they had their last conversation. He could not control his giddy excitement and shock at hearing what sounded like her footsteps, as they approached his bedroom. He looked out the window and saw her figure fleet past the dark courtyard in the direction of his room. As he groped for his night light, he began apologizing profusely for the pressure he had been putting on her lately. He said he admired her resolve and loved her more than he could ever express. He raised the wick to illuminate his room. Then he saw her face. ...

...Athina led the way to the attic, and they followed her, as they had done all their lives. Every time they were up there, they would take note of how they found things and leave them exactly the same way to avoid suspicion. ...

...“Come down right now, all of you,” Sofia ordered, agitated. As she paced back and forth, she called for Theodora and Theophilus to come to the house from the pottery shed.

She controlled her trembling when she saw “the children” scurrying down the ladder. As they passed by, one by one, she scolded, “Stay out of other people’s things from now on.”

“What’s the matter with Grandmother Sofia,” the boys asked Athina simultaneously.

“It’s about the pot. ...

...She went straight to Sofia’s room, sat down on the bed, and asked, “Grandmother, what do you know about that beautiful pot up there? It looks so ancient we thought, maybe, it was yours or Grandfather’s. One of his Apollo sacrificial things? Speaking of Grandfather–Grandmother, what does the symbol on the back of that great black oak chest in the attic stand for? And, what’s in the leather pouch in the oak chest–the pouch that’s sealed with massive red wax?” ...

...“Women have never had any say in these things, Ata. You’re being unfair to her,” he accused.

“She’s no ordinary woman, Petros! She’s Generosa! You see, you don’t know her at all,” she countered.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be happy to make things up to you,” he said, facing her and trying to placate her.

“Do you know what I’m hearing in your voice? Greed. Patent and shameless greed. I wish you could see your face! You can’t even hide it! Get out of my way,” she ordered, pushing him away with all her might.

He stepped out of her way. Then he said, “Think about it, Ata. Think very hard about it.”

“You’re looking out for yourself, not for me,” she accused.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. A windfall dowry, in case we marry.”

“I’m thinking about no such thing,” he denied.

She did not believe him. ...

...To the order, “The girls shall recite their oath,” the whole of Olympia exploded as they came forward, accompanied by their grandparents, parents, guardians, brothers, and sisters. Penelope stepped out of the shadows and joined the stunned coaches and teachers. The girls’ oath was different:

                            We have worked hard in a manner befitting
                            candidates at the Great Olympic Games. We have
                            done nothing to disgrace ourselves, our families,
                            and our deities. We have never taken
                            performance-enhancing drugs. We now seek
                            permission to proceed with good courage and
                            conscience.

Triumphant shouts of “Bona Dea” deafened the Complex. The Emperor winced and shifted nervously in his throne-like seat. He mumbled, “That damned empire wrecker, the evil genius of women’s autonomy now rears her ugly head here....”

The guard closest to him whispered that it was time. He straightened up. ...

...He stood there, rigid, as if possessed, and searched the faces of all those around him for the longest and the most soundless five minutes any of them had ever lived.

Satisfied that he didn’t have to take action against anyone, he proceeded to get ready for his race.

After drawing their positions by lot, the Emperor and thirty-five other charioteers took their places behind corresponding traps that were barred by ropes, stretched across them. They were set for the six-mile race. ...

...Immediately they moved into position, Spiro pulled Demetrius to the ground, grabbed his hair, and pinned it under his foot as he lifted him up. While Demetrius was trying to free his traumatized head with his right hand, Spiro bent down and bit off his left earlobe.

The crack of the referee’s whip landed on Spiro’s back. Biting was prohibited. That would have been Spiro’s second whack had the referee seen him take his first bite. ...

...The Emperor, accompanied by a large entourage including Equiana, Aliki, and her group, arrived to watch the final match between Diana of Olympia and Philostratus of Ephesus. The Emperor immediately ordered that his seat be moved closer to the skamma than any spectator had ever sat, just as he did at Diana’s match at the Magna and when one of his young male cousins wrestled with a Spartan girl in Rome before the Magna. ...

...As the Emperor was being accommodated, Horseface sang, “Down with anti-imperialists. Long live Magnus Caesar, the magnificent and benevolent Emperor. What every woman’s son would be like if he had any brains. Democracy and civilization. Apollo is our ancestor. Down with the barbarians….”

Diana appeared with a bald head and drew loud gasps from the spectators. ...

...The Emperor was on his feet.

Following his example, a scrum of spectators swooped on the spaces around the skamma, with the males jeering the Ephesian youth and yelling, “Get up and wrestle like a man, you lily-livered puppy. Defend your honor and the honor of mankind!”

Thousands of women came rushing very close to the skamma shouting, “Do the Spiro on him!” “Sit on him!” “Choke him!” “Give him a good whipping and send him home, crying to his Mama!” “Do the Spiro on him!” “Chew him up!” “Kick him in the groin!” “The Spiro!” “The Spiro!”

When the women broke into an endless chorus of a popular song, “Mama’s Baby Boy, Give the Teats a Rest” a sea of men rushed at them, battering them and attempting to drag them out of the arena, while calling Diana “Apprentice Midnight Widow,” “She-Devil,” and other foul names. The women responded to the assault and battery by biting and kicking any males in sight. Some women were at various stages of turning their headscarves into nooses and strangulating the stunned men when Diana threw the Ephesian for the third time and pinned his back to the muddy arena. ...