Malefactum et Poena

And then for fitting punishment transformed the Gorgo's lovely hair to loathsome snakes.

            ~Ovid, Metamorphoses 4

The young maiden knelt on the stone steps of the temple with her sister priestesses, bowing their heads as the new dawn began. The sun rose up slowly, casting shadows along the columns that surrounded the women. The youngest of the women stood back up, bowing one last time before leaving the temple and turning towards the rest of the city. 

Bowl in hand, the priestess hiked down toward the town square, where the fountain house stood. As she walked, she kept her head down, ignoring the all-too-frequent glances she got from passersby. They said she was beautiful, stunning, graceful; And she was. Her dark brown hair curled down her back, bouncing as she walked. Her brown eyes were described as enchanting, catching the light of the sun whenever she spoke. Her long frock clung to her bosom, shifting ever so slightly, causing her to look as if she was perpetually in motion. A beauty to all men who walked past, silently cursing the will of the gods, as the woman they coveted most of all was a priestess, an untouchable vessel for the worship of the goddess they prized most.

The maiden never had grown accustomed to the looks she got as she walked the streets. She had grown up the same as the rest of the children around her; didn’t she? Her father owned land along with the rest of the men, and her mother stayed in the home just like every other woman. Why was she so different? Her mother always said it was because her father wanted her to become a priestess, and a priestess she would be. After all, it was better than her mother’s life. She had never quite had the talent at weaving that her mother had; her fingers were never meant to weave cloth.

The decision of her becoming a priestess was set in stone after her father had learned that a priestess stayed away from the home for the entire period she was to be a priestess. For thirty years, her father needn’t worry about his daughter, for what atrocities could befall a priestess of Athena?

The maiden hunched over at the fountain, drawing water into her bowl. Pushing back loose strands of hair, she could see the other women looking at her with scorn. She slowly sighed, rising back up and smiling at the women who, rather quickly, turned around and walked away. The maiden shut her eyes for a moment, praying to Athena to give her the wisdom to ignore the other women in the town. It wasn’t her fault their husbands looked at her the way they did. They should be happy she only went into town once a day, and only to fetch water to help keep the temple clean, the very temple that was established on behalf of the cities patron goddess. Without her, the temple would be a bit filthier, a bit less honorable, and would give the men much less of a reason to pray in the temple.

By the time she had arrived back to the temple, the rest of her fellow priestesses had begun their normal routines. Some were lighting candles while others were bestowing gifts to the statue of Pallas. The maiden quickly walked in, pulled a rag out of another bowl, and dipped it in the cold water. Bearing down on her hands and knees, she began scrubbing the floor around the statue, revealing the reliefs carved into the stand that Athena stood upon. There she could see Athena’s story. She couldn’t help but wish that her father put her on such a high pedestal as Zeus had put Athena. Every day the maiden would scrub the sculptures, wishing she could become renowned for something. Perhaps her beauty would be the thing she is known for, she thought.

It wasn’t until she had finished scrubbing that she realized that the rest of the priestesses were gone. She stood up, glancing around her until she saw something move in the trees nearby. The maiden dropped the rag, and it smacked the floor with a loud schlomp. She walked closer until she was standing beside the last pillar before you stepped onto the dirt. The maiden hid behind it, peering out toward the trees and waited for whatever it was to move again.