Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) Page 15

  But who would she pray to?

  What should she do? What could she do now? Her heart was throbbing, each beat sending pain throughout her.

  She shook her head, a sob catching in her throat.

  This was her making. Her naiveté had brought this about. She should have known she’d never be free, not really. Loving Ariston, tasting the promise of a real life had blinded her to the truth.

  She’d served Athena with such joyous devotion because she believed in the Goddess, in her wisdom. She’d rejoiced in the knowledge that she served Olympus’ will. That she was of use to them, as she was to her father, was understood.

  For the first time Medusa questioned this. Requiting Poseidon’s lust seemed a less than noble goal for Olympus, when the Gods themselves revered marriage. How, then, could Olympus ask such a thing of her? Nay, demand it?

  But Poseidon had offered marriage first… It was her father, her own flesh and blood, who had offered her up for Poseidon’s pleasure Her father.

  “Are you angry?” Poseidon asked, at her side.

  She started, turning round eyes on him. A surprised smile appeared on his devilishly handsome face.

  He circled her with interest, stopping to look into her face. “Your attempt at honor is admirable, but misplaced.” His eyes settled on her lips.

  She continued to stare at him, his words barely reaching her.

  He assessed her before turning his gaze to the sea below. “Ask yourself, Medusa. Would your husband cross the Gods for you?”

  Medusa considered his question, all the while wary of his presence. Would Ariston cross him? To protect her?

  A small smile formed on her lips as she knew. Ariston would take on all of Olympus for her, even knowing he would fail. “He would.”

  Poseidon was thoughtful, his gaze searching her face. “Perhaps. But an honorable man understands the importance of sacrifice. Your man would acknowledge its very necessity – if he’s as honorable as you think him.” His smile grew. “Surely he would never want you to risk his life? No, if he’s so noble his life would mean little… He would never want you to risk the lives of others? The lives of his men? What honor could be found then?”

  A prick of apprehension shot up her spine. She stared apprehensively at him, while dreading the meaning behind his words.

  “Where is your sure response, Medusa?” he asked softly.

  “But how… It would not come to that…” Watching his face, she understood. He was warning her. Bile choked her as she realized the depths of his selfishness.

  “Will it not? You were the cost of a mighty treaty. I know not what will happen now.”

  “Do you not?” her voice broke as her eyes locked with his.

  He moved closer, his hands cupping her face and his thumb running across her lips. “There will come a time when you’ll need my help. You will understand the gravity of what you’ve done. And when you come to me, know what is expected in return. You will welcome me, with open arms, and give your body freely to me.” His pale eyes held hers. “Without tears or weeping.”

  She shook her head, trying to dislodge his hold. “Athena will protect her city and those who champion it.” His hands tightened and she could not.

  “You have affronted my niece and offended Olympus—”

  “My offense will not prevent Olympus from rallying behind Athens. The Gods are merciful to those who are loyal.” She spoke with conviction, praying it was true.

  His brows rose at her words. “There will be consequences for your actions, no matter how costly. I wonder, is it that you can’t stand what I require of you, or that you think your noble husband will cast you aside after I’m done with you?” He paused. “Hear me now. I will aid you when no one else will. But know what I expect from you in return.” He stepped back, a cool fog building about him.

  His words churned her stomach and she clutched Athena’s tree for support.

  Though his voice remained strong, his figure began to bend and fade, transforming into a dense cloud. “You will call for me soon. The fate of your beloved husband and Athens’ trireme fleet may depend upon you and your precious honor.” He laughed, softly.

  The fog rose, sweeping about him and engulfing his figure. The fog moved away, spilling over the cliff and taking him with it.

  She followed the vapor to the cliff’s edge. Such coldness gripped her, leaving her numb. Her eyes followed the writhing cloud as it slipped across the hills and floated over the sea. It, he, vanished there.

  ###

  Elpis hurried, navigating the treacherous slope up the hill to the temple. She’d left her master’s house in an uproar. Ariston’s note had been met with thunderous anger, though reluctant acceptance was quick to follow.

  While Galenus was disappointed that Poseidon had overlooked his niece, Ariston’s gifts and pledges were more generous than any marriage contract he knew of. Ariston was, after all, a better match than expected. And Galenus grew more pleased each time he reviewed the bride’s price Ariston had paid.

  He knew Phorcys would as well.

  The news that Ariston’s uncle was Themistocles, a man of great power in Athens, was a pleasant surprise. Themistocles was a man who appreciated the importance of the seas in battle, and Galenus had praised his vision. If not for his skills as an orator, Galenus had told all who would listen, Athens would not have the largest fleet of trireme ships in the world. And now Themistocles was part of Galenus’ oikos – an honor indeed.

  As Elpis watched their things depart for their ship, another note arrived in the hands of the Gorgons. Elpis was filled with such a terrible foreboding that she’d listened from the shadows of her master’s courtyard.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Galenus asked after reading the note.

  “Our father states it plainly, does he not?” Euryale snapped.

  “We’ve come to help our sister, to bring her things to Poseidon’s house,” Stheno said.

  Elpis felt the words as if they’d been a physical blow.

  “But she’s gone…” Galenus was dismayed, greatly so.

  “To the temple, to collect her gift?” Euryale laughed. “The Gods have a cruel sense of humor. Do they not, Uncle Galenus? Who would find marriage to such a faithless immortal a gift?”

  Galenus said nothing. Elpis understood. What could he say? He was as stunned as she was, but he had no shadows to hide in.

  “It is an honor to be chosen, by any God,” Stheno said. “And she will see the good in this marriage, if not in her husband. Which way to our sister’s chamber?”

  “You’ll find it empty,” Galenus voice was soft.

  Stheno and Euryale turned to regard him, waiting from their lofty height for some further explanation to his peculiar statement.

  “Has she learned of her betrothal?” Stheno asked.

  “In a manner of speaking…” Galenus sat in his chair. He was not threatened by the Gorgons he was so lost in thought. “She’s married. But not to Poseidon.”

  Elpis did not stop to think. She ran from Galenus’ home, moving more swiftly than she thought possible. She knew her mistress needed her. And she would help Medusa…somehow. She had to stop twice, for fear her lungs would burst. She waited only long enough to catch her breath before running on.

  As she flew up the temple’s steps she heard Poseidon speak, and her blood grew icy. “I will take the place of her husband. She will come with me. Until I tire of her, that is.”

  Elpis knew her mistress would never willingly enter into such a bargain. Just as she knew the Gods would never take Medusa’s rejection lightly.

  She was startled when Thea circled lower, clicking and calling. “What shall we do, Thea?”

  Thea cooed, hovering briefly before she flew towards the coast. Elpis wondered about the wisdom of including Ariston, but knew she had no choice. Her mistress was in danger. She followed Thea, praying Ariston would know how to handle this dreadful situation.

  ###

  The sun was rising
. Ariston could feel the warm whisper of its rays caressing his cheek as he woke. The gentle sway of the ship lulled him into a lingering doze.

  Dreams of his lady wife were so real that he felt the silk of her skin beneath his fingers and the scent of her, clean and salty, filled his nostrils. Her image teased him, reaching for him while staying beyond his reach. He could not rise until he held her, once more. The pull of such dreams kept him sprawled upon the deck longer than his crew, but he could not bear to part with her again.

  “Sir,” someone dared to wake him. “Ariston? They’re waiting for us.”

  Medusa faded, running into the waves with a happy laugh and a flash of her blue eyes… And Ariston forced his eyes open, ignoring the sharp ache in his chest.

  The sun was bright, too bright.

  “When?” Ariston’s voice was brusque. He forced himself onto his feet, the rolling deck beneath his feet giving him no pause.

  “They must have seen us coming.” His second, Pamphilos, stared over the water at the fleet on the horizon. “They’ve come to meet us.”

  Ariston stretched, his night on the deck affording little comfort. He’d left his tent to sleep under the stars in the hopes that he’d find peace. Instead his dreams had taunted him, flooding him with longing.

  He stooped, shaking out his well-worn cloak – his makeshift pillow – and pulled it around his shoulders.

  A swarm of ships with black flags stretched as far as the eye could see. The horizon was thick with them, this loathsome enemy. Peace would not find him this day.

  Welcome, Persians. At last he would meet these dreaded invaders. His blood pounded and the taste of the hunt flooded his mouth.

  “We lead?” Ariston asked, glancing behind them. Athens’ triremes trailed their ship.

  Pamphilos laughed.

  Ariston nodded.

  It was tradition. His men led for glory – they had little patience for Athens’ newly trained forces. Only the best and most skilled served on his ship. While his uncle’s maneuvering had provided Athens with their ships, Themistocles could not build troops to man them. Ariston could only pray those he’d trained would earn the name soldier. Hoplites and citizens alike, any man strong enough to lift an oar now rowed out to their destiny.

  He regarded the ships with pride. Not all were as skilled as his Ekdromoi, but what these men lacked in skill they made up for in determination.

  The swell of bloodlust, the rush of anticipation, would soon wash over Athens’ impatient fleet and bid them fight. It was known that the Persians’ cavalry and infantry were to be avoided at all costs. But these ships offered a chance at victory and true glory.

  Victory.

  Glory.

  These had been his goals as well, until Medusa. Now glory, victory, paled next to the peace and pleasure he found in her arms. This would be his last battle. He would be victorious so he might return to her.

  Pamphilos’ eyes narrowed as he pointed to the sky. “A storm is coming, one that will tip their heavy loads and buoy us over them.”

  “Let it come. If Poseidon seeks tributes, we shall help them on their way.” Ariston’s eyes narrowed as his eyes scanned the sky, then the water.

  There was a storm coming. Grey and black streaked across the sky, spreading across the blue sky and darkening the sun itself. Ariston watched and felt his senses sharpen. This was not the advantage he’d hoped for. Nor was this storm a comfort – there was something more…

  The clouds rose, then split sharply as if the sky were being cut in two.

  The wind fell flat, the air silent and still.

  Just as suddenly, the sky roared. Thunder rolled over the waves, deafening Ariston and all upon the sea. With a staggering gust, the wind pulled sharply at their sails. The ships surged, carried ever closer to the Persians.

  “A strange storm,” Pamphilos noted.

  Ariston nodded. “Anchor the oars. We cannot afford to lose our speed.”

  Pamphilos hurried towards the galley opening, bellowing Ariston’s orders through the hatch to the oarsmen below.

  Ariston reached for his linothorax, slipping it on and lacing the sides of his leather and bronze chest plate in preparation for the day to come.

  When he returned, Pamphilos held a letter. “Ektor gave this to one of the men last night. It’s for you.” Pamphilos was smiling, a knowing kind of smile. “The girl, Elpis, left it for you. She’s from Master Galenus’ household? Your lady wife’s house?”

  He took the note from Pamphilos, opening it even as his second watched him closely. “She is,” Ariston said, already reading the words.

  Master,

  Your lady wife knows nothing of my plea. She would not thank me for interfering. Athena’s gift was no gift at all. The Olympians demand a union between our lady and Poseidon. Medusa refused. Poseidon then bid her be his mistress. She refused that too. But I fear he will not rest until his will is done.

  I know you leave to serve Athens when our city needs you most. But I beg for your aid. Guide me, help me to help our lady, I implore you.

  I await your good word. Your humble servant

  – Elpis

  The parchment crumpled in his hold, crushing the words that cleaved his heart. Ariston stared back towards Athens, beyond his reach.

  The wind continued to howl about him. But his ears throbbed and his blood roared.

  She was alone. In danger. Had his dreams not warned him of such? Had they not tainted his sleep and robbed him of any pleasure he might find with her?

  With hands tight upon the rail of his ship he held himself in check.

  “Pamphilos,” his voice trembled with rage, masking the fear that twisted his stomach. He could not leave her unprotected. He knew he must reach her. “Turn the ship about. We return to Athens.”

  Chapter Nine

  There were no ships for Rhodes – there were no ships leaving Athens.

  Medusa could not return to her uncle’s house. She would have no hand in the suffering of Galenus or Xenia. She feared her actions would bring them misfortune as well, but prayed staying well away might spare them.

  She pleaded with Elpis, urging her to return to Galenus’ home or her own father’s house. But Elpis would not leave her, even though they had no place to go.

  The storm had been so sudden, they’d been forced to find shelter. Since its beginning, intermittent sheets of rain and spears of ice had pelted Athens. They’d been relieved with the herder’s shelter they’d found, uncaring that it was little more than a cave. Huddled together about their small fire, they waited. The rain had poured steadily since noontime the day before, the sky shaking with thunder. Surely this storm would not last forever.

  While the fire offered her little warmth, its glow helped disperse some of the gloom that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Since they’d found their shelter, she’d done nothing but pray. Surely one of the Gods would hear her and have mercy upon her.

  She prayed to Hera for her husband, for all of the husbands.

  She prayed to Aphrodite for her love.

  She prayed to Ares for prowess and skill – for Ariston, for all those fighting.

  She prayed to Apollo, entreating him to shine.

  She prayed to Athena for wisdom, to guide her troops to a victory.

  For hours she pleaded and prayed.

  But they would not hear her.

  The sky cracked, shot through with spindly lightening fingers, chased by mighty bursts of thunder. The sky, this storm, was rife with threat.

  And there was no one to blame but herself.

  Thunder shook the hill, jarring her from her useless musings.

  Thea slept, her head buried beneath her wing. How she could stay so unaffected by such a tempest, Medusa couldn’t fathom. But she knew her little friend, like Elpis, worried over their uncertain circumstances. Circumstances she’d caused.

  Only one solution offered hope. She must go to Athena and entreat her to listen. Surely the Goddess would see Pose
idon’s pettiness and prevent any harm to the soldiers who fought to protect her city. Athena would save her soldiers to save her city, Medusa prayed.

  She stood, draping her chiton over her head as a hood and pulling it tightly about her shoulders. “I can bear it no longer, Elpis. I must go to the temple and beg for her mercy. For her soldiers, for their lives…”

  Thea roused, cawing loudly and flapping her wings in alarm.

  “You cannot,” Elpis protested. “Even Thea sees that. Athena will not hear you. She will not. In truth, you risk her wrath – a fearful prospect to be sure.”

  Medusa refused to give in to tears. “I cannot sit by and do nothing. This is my fault!”

  “I will go.” Elpis stood as she spoke, gathering her robes about her.

  “It’s my burden to bear…”

  “You’re wrong, mistress. Whatever the cause, Athens suffers. Tis my burden, as well as yours.” Elpis’ tone was soothing, her brown eyes regarding her earnestly.

  “I… You shouldn’t…” she began, but Elpis held up a hand to silence her.

  “I want to.”

  “Thank you, Elpis.”

  Elpis kissed her cheek and hurried from the cave.

  Medusa knelt to pray, but words stuck in her throat. It was not enough. She had to do something, for the storm most certainly hindered any progress Athens’ soldiers might make against the Persians.

  She waited only moments longer before following her companion, ignoring the plaintive coos from Thea.

  Though it was midday, the sky was inky black. She could see the sun, but it could not reach the shore. There was no break in the massive thunderheads surrounding Athens to provide its rays entry. The sky had been torn apart, two separate halves atop the sea.

  The sea… She moved to the edge of the cliff.

  Below her, the sea rolled. Gone was its clear green and blue depths, a thing of beauty. The sea that greeted her was black and grey, its waves twisting and tossing angrily, striking out at the ships that tried to stay afloat.

  What sun was visible shone brilliantly over only part of the Aegean, the other roiled with the destruction of the storm.