"Women said you were his son. He's dead," I said, "your father. Broke his neck, fell on the back steps."The man leveled his shotgun at me."You kill hi...?" he asked with unblinking eyes.I shook my head. "He missed a step, cracked his head and died. Did he drink?" None a'your business," the son said, the gun unwavering."Just thought I'd tell you," I said, sticking my toe in the stirrup."Wait," he said, "I'll ride back with you." I waited and we rode back, him behind me, shotgun in his lap, without. Meanwhile the older priestesses examined the fruits of the farmers'labors. Those with the best produce or cattle knew they would take partin the rituals to honor The Goddess and competition was fierce for thishonor. Eventually their selection was made and five farmers were summonedto walk up the marble steps to the temple. There they were led into thegreat hall where we awaited them. We were dressed for the occasion in thefinest linen gowns, so fine that our bodies were barely concealed by. More

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