“I’m in a priest’s uniform,” said Eutostea. “I’m not a spy. It’s just that this is the first time you’ve seen me.”
The soldier tried to figure out Eutostea’s identity.
“Are you a priest who came to pray for us and offer blessings? Or are you here to tell the fate of this country?”
The man who asked those questions bravely looked to be in his forties. He was a wounded soldier waiting for the day he would die. The wound in his stomach twitched and he moaned, face contorting.
Eutostea looked at the gods in bewilderment. She looked at Apollo with pleading eyes, but he did not react, only watching. She had no choice but to make a move. According to them, they couldn’t meddle in human affairs due to Zeus’ decree.
“Priest,” the man called her.
Eutostea approached the man. The man’s cracked and ruptured wound looked like swollen caves. His face was pale like a corpse.
“Are you thirsty?” Eutostea asked.
“I would die just to get a drop of water in my mouth,” the man groaned.
He and his comrades were thirsty. Materials were limited, and all the able-bodied men able to draw water from the well were called out into the battlefield.
The man, who had been clattering like a dead tree branch with pale white eyes, drank her alcohol and suddenly became vigorous as if he had lived a new life. Was this a miracle? Eutostea wondered as she clasped her hands together, looking at Dionysus standing behind her. Neither he nor Apollo said a word.
The leopards lied down with a languid expression.
The current situation was for her to decide. She was the only one who could take responsibility for her choices.
Eutostea put her palms together like a bowl, and clear liquor slowly filled up. The man thought it was rainwater and drank the drops of alcohol that flowed over him. The smell of alcohol flowed down the earthen soil, which was filled with the smell of blood and rotting flesh. Those lying on the ground licked their lips like goldfish. The scent alone made them feel drunk and thirsty.
The man carefully took the drink from her hand and drank it. He closed his eyes and savored the taste, exhaling comfortably. Euthostia looked at his face. His skin had become clean and vigorous; he did not look like a wounded soldier who had not washed for days. The corners of his eyes gleamed red as if they had been sprinkled with starlight. It wasn’t the face of a healed man, but the face of a man who mastered life.
“Thank you, Priest,” the man said his final goodbyes and shut his eyes.
Eutostea looked at his dead face with bewildered eyes. The atmosphere became somber.
“Why…?”
The blind woman who drank from her had been healed, her cataract eyes healed. She also had renewed energy too.
“I…” Eutostea mumbled then mouthed silently, “Dionysus, I… didn’t mean to kill him.”
The two gods read the shape of her lips. Apollo seemed to know something. Dionysus walked over to the man.
“The Moirai has intervened. This man decided to obey his fate, Eutostea.”
The Moirai were goddesses who spun the thread of fate. Eutostea’s alcohol gave him the last vitality, despite the man having already given up. It must’ve been his wish to be free from pain and sleep peacefully.
Dionysus placed a gold coin on the man’s forehead. Those who arrived on the River of Styx didn’t alway have the money to cross, especially those in the battlefield where they could die at any moment. War always carried the shadow of death.
Dionysus comforted the spirit descending to the lower world with a solemn face. He must have been someone’s parent, someone’s father-in-law, or a country’s loyal subject.
“You fought hard enough. Risking your life, you ran into the blood-splattered battlefield. But death was met by you alone. Those who despair…” Dionysus sang softly.
Those who could stand up moved their body. Eutostea was surrounded by those begging for water. When they saw their comrade drink the wine and sleep peacefully, they bowed their heads in front of her feet with a strong desire not to question whether it was poison or not. They wanted a taste of it, too.
“Priest of Dionysus.”
“Are you the priest of Dionysus? Could you please share the drink with us?”
Alcohol came out of her hand. It could only mean she was related to Zeus.
“Alcohol…”
“I’m going to die of thirst…”
At the sound of the soldiers begging, Eutostea looked around with a hardened face. People were begging on their knees. She feared that a fight would break out if—
The sound of the horn signaling the return of the army saved her from trouble. Soldiers, weary and wounded, limping in their armor, entered the fortress.
A man riding a horse at the front got off. It was Captain Maceades. He took off his helm with a sky blue emblem and put it on his side. He was limping, his calf injured. The tip of the spear he was holding like a cane crumbled and flew away. The spear was stained with blood. It was most likely not his as there were no other injuries than the wound on his calf.
Eutostea felt madness from him. It was the kind of madness that craved to destroy his enemies.
“What’s the fuss?”
“Captain, this Dionysus’ priest, the god of wine,” a soldier carefully explained.
“It’s a flavorful drink. I’m sure it will taste good too. It seems that she’s here to hand out precious wine to the soldiers,” another explained.
“The battlefield is right in front of you, but you’re drinking?” Macaedes stared at Eutostea with cold eyes. “It’s not enough for you to unlawfully enter a military area, you’re now wearing a priest’s uniform to entice wounded soldiers with lies and deceit. What else could you be but a spy?”
“I’m no spy,” Eutostea said. “I’m the princess of this country.”
“I’m in a priest’s uniform,” said Eutostea. “I’m not a spy. It’s just that this is the first time you’ve seen me.”
The soldier tried to figure out Eutostea’s identity.
“Are you a priest who came to pray for us and offer blessings? Or are you here to tell the fate of this country?”
The man who asked those questions bravely looked to be in his forties. He was a wounded soldier waiting for the day he would die. The wound in his stomach twitched and he moaned, face contorting.
Eutostea looked at the gods in bewilderment. She looked at Apollo with pleading eyes, but he did not react, only watching. She had no choice but to make a move. According to them, they couldn’t meddle in human affairs due to Zeus’ decree.
“Priest,” the man called her.
Eutostea approached the man. The man’s cracked and ruptured wound looked like swollen caves. His face was pale like a corpse.
“Are you thirsty?” Eutostea asked.
“I would die just to get a drop of water in my mouth,” the man groaned.
He and his comrades were thirsty. Materials were limited, and all the able-bodied men able to draw water from the well were called out into the battlefield.
The man, who had been clattering like a dead tree branch with pale white eyes, drank her alcohol and suddenly became vigorous as if he had lived a new life. Was this a miracle? Eutostea wondered as she clasped her hands together, looking at Dionysus standing behind her. Neither he nor Apollo said a word.
The leopards lied down with a languid expression.
The current situation was for her to decide. She was the only one who could take responsibility for her choices.
Eutostea put her palms together like a bowl, and clear liquor slowly filled up. The man thought it was rainwater and drank the drops of alcohol that flowed over him. The smell of alcohol flowed down the earthen soil, which was filled with the smell of blood and rotting flesh. Those lying on the ground licked their lips like goldfish. The scent alone made them feel drunk and thirsty.
The man carefully took the drink from her hand and drank it. He closed his eyes and savored the taste, exhaling comfortably. Euthostia looked at his face. His skin had become clean and vigorous; he did not look like a wounded soldier who had not washed for days. The corners of his eyes gleamed red as if they had been sprinkled with starlight. It wasn’t the face of a healed man, but the face of a man who mastered life.
“Thank you, Priest,” the man said his final goodbyes and shut his eyes.
Eutostea looked at his dead face with bewildered eyes. The atmosphere became somber.
“Why…?”
The blind woman who drank from her had been healed, her cataract eyes healed. She also had renewed energy too.
“I…” Eutostea mumbled then mouthed silently, “Dionysus, I… didn’t mean to kill him.”
The two gods read the shape of her lips. Apollo seemed to know something. Dionysus walked over to the man.
“The Moirai has intervened. This man decided to obey his fate, Eutostea.”
The Moirai were goddesses who spun the thread of fate. Eutostea’s alcohol gave him the last vitality, despite the man having already given up. It must’ve been his wish to be free from pain and sleep peacefully.
Dionysus placed a gold coin on the man’s forehead. Those who arrived on the River of Styx didn’t alway have the money to cross, especially those in the battlefield where they could die at any moment. War always carried the shadow of death.
Dionysus comforted the spirit descending to the lower world with a solemn face. He must have been someone’s parent, someone’s father-in-law, or a country’s loyal subject.
“You fought hard enough. Risking your life, you ran into the blood-splattered battlefield. But death was met by you alone. Those who despair…” Dionysus sang softly.
Those who could stand up moved their body. Eutostea was surrounded by those begging for water. When they saw their comrade drink the wine and sleep peacefully, they bowed their heads in front of her feet with a strong desire not to question whether it was poison or not. They wanted a taste of it, too.
“Priest of Dionysus.”
“Are you the priest of Dionysus? Could you please share the drink with us?”
Alcohol came out of her hand. It could only mean she was related to Zeus.
“Alcohol…”
“I’m going to die of thirst…”
At the sound of the soldiers begging, Eutostea looked around with a hardened face. People were begging on their knees. She feared that a fight would break out if—
The sound of the horn signaling the return of the army saved her from trouble. Soldiers, weary and wounded, limping in their armor, entered the fortress.
A man riding a horse at the front got off. It was Captain Maceades. He took off his helm with a sky blue emblem and put it on his side. He was limping, his calf injured. The tip of the spear he was holding like a cane crumbled and flew away. The spear was stained with blood. It was most likely not his as there were no other injuries than the wound on his calf.
Eutostea felt madness from him. It was the kind of madness that craved to destroy his enemies.
“What’s the fuss?”
“Captain, this Dionysus’ priest, the god of wine,” a soldier carefully explained.
“It’s a flavorful drink. I’m sure it will taste good too. It seems that she’s here to hand out precious wine to the soldiers,” another explained.
“The battlefield is right in front of you, but you’re drinking?” Macaedes stared at Eutostea with cold eyes. “It’s not enough for you to unlawfully enter a military area, you’re now wearing a priest’s uniform to entice wounded soldiers with lies and deceit. What else could you be but a spy?”
“I’m no spy,” Eutostea said. “I’m the princess of this country.”
