Creusa shook her head. As if waking from a dream.
(No! Creusa, you can't waver so easily. You must observe him more!)
The thought made her cheeks flush faintly. Like they were tinged with sunlight.
She steadied herself. Her grey-blue eyes fixed seriously on Aeneas. Her voice held a probing note.
"What I just said about… the differences between men and women, about fate… What do you think after hearing it?
Do you think I'm a terribly willful, unreasonable woman?"
Aeneas's eyes lit up instantly. Like a hawk spotting prey.
(Finally! A question in my area of expertise!)
He cheered inwardly. The soul of a modern writer leapt in his chest.
(In this era, on feminist thought, I dare say no one knows more than me! I've been holding back so long, finally a chance to let loose!)
"I think you're absolutely right!"
Aeneas seemed ignited. His voice rose sharply, making a few passing farmers turn their heads.
He gestured animatedly. His words came fast, like a speech in the public assembly.
"Not just right, you're even being too accommodating! Too conservative!
This idea that women must guard their chastity while men can have countless concubines? It's complete nonsense!"
Creusa took a half-step back, startled. Staring at this suddenly fervent youth.
An old woman at a nearby stall, selecting pottery, nearly dropped the bowl in her hands.
"The foundation of marriage should be mutual loyalty and respect!"
Aeneas grew more passionate. He didn't notice the gathering stares.
"If a man can take concubines, why can't a woman take a lover?
Or, at the very least, she should have the right to seek a divorce and receive fair compensation!"
He looked earnestly at Creusa. Completely ignored the growing crowd. Like an orator in a debate. He even cited a myth for support:
"And that story about Medusa! You know it, right? She was the victim! Assaulted by Poseidon in Athena's own temple!
And what happened? Athena didn't punish the lecherous perpetrator! She took her anger out on the victim! Cursed Medusa into a hideous monster! Where's the justice in that?"
The clanging from the coppersmith's shop across the street suddenly stopped. A few young men dressed as slaves gaped.
Aeneas's voice echoed through the narrow street, growing louder, more impassioned:
"And that Perseus! He was nothing but a murderer! A complete villain!
Medusa was hiding pathetically in her cave! All those people turned to stone were trying to harm her!
She was just defending herself! She stared fearfully at the intruder! What's wrong with that? Nothing! Right?
Perseus goes and chops her head off! How is that being a hero? It's murder!
And then he parades her head around, boasting! That's desecrating the dead! Mutilating a corpse! By… by all that's right, he should have been severely punished!"
He was nearly roaring by the end. Directing his fury at the gods themselves. A child by the roadside dropped his wooden toy into the muddy water in fright.
"And what makes me angriest is that Athena—afterwards—took Medusa's head as a trophy! Mounted it on her shield!
It's utterly senseless! Vile!
She harms an innocent victim, then uses her corpse to flaunt her own power and divinity? Just because she's a goddess, does that mean she can do whatever she wants?!"
Creusa listened to Aeneas's shocking speech, dumbstruck. Her mouth hung slightly open in pure astonishment.
The color drained from her delicate face. Then a panicked flush rushed back instantly.
(Gods! He… the things he's saying… It sounds so logical, even things I was afraid to think… But how can he say them?!)
Her mind was a storm of turmoil.
(He's not just condemning the hero Perseus, he's directly accusing Lord Poseidon and Lady Athena?!
Even if he truly is Lady Aphrodite's beloved son, he can't be this reckless! Is he not afraid of divine retribution at all?!)
She snapped back to reality. Saw with alarm how passersby had been drawn by Aeneas's loud, critical voice. They stared with shock, confusion, even accusation.
A woman carrying a water jug made a fearful sign over her chest. Two young men in priest-apprentice robes frowned, exchanging looks.
Aeneas smacked his lips, looking like he had plenty more to say. Her panic intensified.
"Alright! Alright! I understand what you mean!"
Forgetting all decorum, Creusa rushed forward. Rose onto her toes. Clamped both her hands tightly over Aeneas's mouth. Her body pressed close against his.
She leaned in, speaking urgently into his ear. Her voice carried both fear and entreaty, soft but urgent.
"Please, I'm begging you, stop! Lord Poseidon and Lady Athena are not for us mortals to criticize so freely!
Even if Lady Aphrodite dotes on you, you can't be so… so presumptuous…"
Halfway through, Creusa suddenly realized their position was intensely intimate—
She was practically molded against Aeneas's chest, her hands still covering his mouth.
The stares from the crowd shifted. No longer just shocked by his words, but now by their close physical contact.
Vendors whispered and pointed.
Further back, Achates and Nisus saw the scene. They clamped their own hands over their mouths. Their shoulders and bodies shook with suppressed laughter.
Achates's bronze face was turning red with the effort. Nisus buried his face in his fur mantle, only his quivering shoulders visible.
Euryalus had abandoned all pretense of dignity. He was bent double, clutching his stomach, tears streaming from his eyes. His obsidian arrowhead necklace swung wildly against his chest.
Creusa's face went red. Like a ripe apple. Flustered and furious, she stomped hard on Aeneas's foot. Then turned. Almost ran as she hurried off. Her white robe swished, kicking up little clouds of dust.
Aeneas gasped. Grabbed his foot. Hopped twice on the other.
Then clenched his jaw and limped after her, fast as he could.
Behind them, Euryalus finally cracked.
His laughter burst out, sharp and loud, cutting through the noise of the market.
They rounded a corner piled with broken pottery. Entered a dirtier, more dilapidated open space between streets. Creusa stopped abruptly. As if pinned by an invisible force. Her gaze locked on the scene ahead.
It was starkly different from the main street's noise. Too quiet. The kind that chokes the air.
In one corner, trash and dry weeds piled up.
A little girl stood there, clothes torn, skin sallow, thin as a stick.
She was holding a pitifully thin horse by the reins—trying to sell it.
The beast looked worse than the broken huts around it.
Its ribs stuck out like harp strings. Coat dull, patchy, half bald. Eyes cloudy, unfocused.
Legs trembling, but still standing.
The girl looked up at the few passersby, eyes pleading. Trying to sell the horse. But the hurrying poor didn't even slow their steps.
Creusa watched silently. The embarrassment and anger had vanished from her face. Replaced by a compassion and distress she had never shown so clearly.
Her fingers lightly traced the intricate gold embroidery on her own robe. Then slowly clenched. Crumpling the fine fabric.
This was the first time, as a princess, she had faced the poverty and suffering festering beneath the city's glory so directly. So unveiled.
The golden roofs of the distant palace gleamed in the sun. Here, the air smelled of mold and despair.
Aeneas stopped too. He stood beside her. Didn't speak to break her reverie.
He simply watched her profile. Focused and soft. Watched the complex light shimmering in her grey-blue eyes—
There was shock there. Pity. And a dawning awareness. Like someone realizing their beautiful home was built on shifting sand.
The afternoon sun slanted down. It bathed the noble princess in her splendid robes, the desperate pauper girl, and the skeletal horse in the same light.
It formed a picture. Beautiful, yet filled with irony and stark contrast.