Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) Page 7

  Thea was silent, her yellow gaze riveted upon Medusa.

  She turned from her owl and knelt by the window. Her whispered prayers were for peace and Athens’ safety…and the safety of the soldiers who would defend them all.

  ###

  A fortnight had passed since Ariston was called to duty.

  Medusa was thankful for Anestheria. Without the many festival preparations, she’d have nothing to distract her. She felt his absence nonetheless.

  A temple guard had little chance for glory while serving Athena’s priestess, she knew that. And glory was a soldier’s greatest reward. She hoped he would find it, and come back to her.

  His absence, coupled with the constant correspondence from her parents, plucked at the edges of her patience. Yet she prayed, knowing the Gods would hear her and champion her as they saw fit. Her faith was strong.

  Anestheria came upon the city and surrounding countryside with noise, drink, and people. As Athens filled with revelers, Medusa watched from the safety and distance of the temple. She would stay at the temple through the festivities. Anestheria was not one of Athena’s celebrations. The three-day festival celebrated Dionysus, The Lord of the Vine in this, the Festival of the Vine Flowers. And while reason and wisdom had little to do with drink, Athena received numerous offerings and tributes just the same.

  On this, the first day, Pithoigia, spirits were high. On Pithoigia, jugs of new wine were opened and shared between servants and their masters. All was done in leisurely fashion, encouraging camaraderie.

  On the morrow, drinking the wine became sport. Drunken crowds grew unruly and the festivities less restrained. Every maiden in Athens was locked away or carefully guarded. Innocence, a revered virtue, might be stolen by those lost to the drink.

  Medusa lit her lamp and knelt to arrange Athena’s gifts so that more could be added in the morning. Athena was certain to be pleased.

  Her arms trembled as she hefted a large basket of apples. She’d felt weakness more than once recently, but she had no appetite and sleep would not find her. She ran a shaky hand over her face, thankful she was kneeling as dizziness swept through her.

  “Mistress,” Elpis said softly.

  Medusa attempted a smile. “I’m fine,” she reassured her companion. “Help me up?”

  Elpis rushed to her side, slipping her arm around Medusa for support.

  “You must eat,” Elpis chided her.

  “I will later,” Medusa promised.

  Someone stood, waiting in the shadows beyond the antechamber. Medusa turned, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make out who was there.

  “Lady,” Ariston’s deep voice reverberated off the temple walls.

  Medusa froze, her heart and lungs convulsing with pleasure.

  He’d come back.

  It struck her, almost physically, how her mind and body were buoyed by his presence. She clung to Elpis, her hands tightening upon her companion as she sought to stand her ground.

  He stepped forward, bowing low before her. Then he stood, staring. How she’d missed his face, his steady eyes upon her…as they were now. How she’d missed the sound of his voice, calling her ‘Lady’.

  She stilled the smile that threatened to spread across her face, meeting his gaze with barely suppressed delight.

  Elpis squeezed her hands in warning. Medusa stiffened, but understood.

  “Your soldier returned to watch over you through the Festival,” Elpis said lightly, “in time for Choes on the morrow when we will need him most. A wise gift from your Goddess, I think?”

  Medusa inclined her head in acknowledgement, releasing Elpis as she did so. “Indeed. Welcome.” She said no more, but turned back to the altar before her pleasure revealed itself.

  She clenched her trembling hands, pressing them against her sides. She would need to be strong, to fight the pleading of her overflowing heart.

  ###

  Ariston watched her. He suspected his helmet did little to disguise the longing and pleasure on his face, but he cared not.

  His lungs burned, still shuddering from the pace he’d set to reach the temple. Once he’d been free to return to her, he’d run. He’d raced from the shore to Galenus’ home. But she was not there, having already stationed herself in the temple for Anestheria. Shifting his doru and shield, he’d set off again, sprinting up the hill to find her.

  He’d not known Elpis watched him as he scaled the hill, for he ran as if his life depended on it. She had greeted him with a disapproving frown and a deep sigh.

  “You betray too much, soldier,” she’d chided him.

  His eyes closed at the young woman’s words. He shuttered his face, but could not control his excitement. He’d followed Elpis beyond the antechamber and into the white walls of Athena’s temple.

  His breathing slowed as he watched his lady from beneath his helmet. After two long weeks of readying Athens’ ships, two weeks of training hoplites with doru and shield, knife and sword, he should have been exhausted. Yet seeing her soothed the soreness of his muscles and the fatigue of his soul. And for the first time in a fortnight, his heart didn’t ache.

  When Elpis had helped her stand, he’d fought the desire to do the same.

  Her gaze met his for the briefest of moments, and his heart was whole. He swam in the blue depths of her eyes before she’d turned from him to her duties.

  He could not be certain, but he thought she was pleased by his return. He hoped so.

  She seemed fragile, more so than when he’d left. Had something happened with her father? Had her sisters visited again? Was there news from Athena? Had a decision been made?

  In his time away, Ariston had prayed. Not for favor with the Goddess, or glory in battle – for none seemed to matter.

  Only his lady… He prayed for her. He prayed that she might be released, that her father, the Gorgons, the Goddess, all who had some claim on Medusa, would let her go. He prayed for her freedom, that she might choose her life. And, if his prayers were heard, he would help her have whatever she wanted.

  His will was no longer his own. Even his service to the Goddess did not compare to the devotion he felt for Medusa.

  Before he stationed himself at the top of the temple steps, he glanced at her again. She knelt before the temple dais, her head bent in prayer.

  But if she was not released, he would watch over her and love her silently – for as long as the Gods allowed it.

  “You are staying at the temple?” he asked Elpis softly.

  “Yes. We stay in the robes room.”

  He nodded, his eyes traveling back to Medusa. On this night, he would sleep outside and keep watch. He was satisfied.

  He straightened his cloak and stepped out onto the temple steps, scanning the empty walls of the temple. How odd that, on the verge of war, he felt such peace.

  ###

  Medusa’s heart raced on. She heard him on the temple steps, heard Elpis’ whispered good night, but did not turn from the dais. She could not risk it.

  Joy overwhelmed her, unknotting the muscles of her back and the ache in her head.

  How she’d feared for his safety.

  While no Persian army had landed at Athens, skirmishes had been reported. Several Athenians had lost their life at the hands of traitors and spies… She’d barely controlled her agitation as Galenus had shared the names of those who had fallen under a Persian sword. She could hardly contain her relief when Ariston’s name had not been among them.

  She’d tried not to let her worries color her every waking moment, but Uncle Galenus railed against the Persians’ vicious nature nightly. And while Nikolaos accompanied her to temple, he worried aloud over their enemies’ cunning and brutality at length.

  War was men’s work, and they seemed eager for it.

  She had missed him.

  But he was safe.

  Having him here… She drew in a steadying breath. She would savor every second.

  And yet, she must steel herself against her heart. She would
not yield to sentimentality. She could not. No more jests or teasing, no more days in the golden sun on the shore. It was wrong, for them both. He was Athena’s, as was she, and there could be nothing between the two of them except that.

  She would be satisfied with that, she must be.

  As the candles burned down, Medusa glanced about the temple. She was thankful to Athena, pleased that she served such a worthy goddess. It was no hardship to serve her.

  The piled offerings were a testament to her favor. Beautiful carved owls, finely woven linens, shells, carafes of wine and oil, woven baskets of olives, painted jugs, and grapes and figs. All had been given for the Goddess’ pleasure. And tomorrow, more gifts would come.

  But tonight, she could sleep easily. For the rest was manageable now that she knew he was safe. She smiled, shifting a listing basket so it would not spill.

  She was aware of nothing amiss. The sudden dimming of the candles must be a trick of her tired eyes. But a queer chill crept up her spine, lifting the hair along the nape of her neck and the length of her forearms. She shivered, rubbing her arms to warm herself. But there was more, something else… She stood, peering into the shadows of the temple. Wariness replaced her exhaustion.

  A fog rolled in, pouring quickly across the marble floor. A gust of wind tossed the candles flame, lifting her veils from her face and casting them into the dense vapor now rising about her knees. She stooped to search for them, but the fog was so thick she could no longer see the marble floor beneath her, let alone her sheer veils. The wind rose again, swirling the fog around the pillars and chilling the air with an unsettling whisper.

  Her stomach tightened as the thick grey mist filled the temple, swallowing everything – except her.

  She shifted, tending to the flickering candles before they sputtered out. She had no desire to be swallowed by this fog and the blanket of night. She pulled the heavy ceremonial robes tightly about her, and yet she felt strangely exposed to a new presence – one she sensed but had yet to see. She shivered as she spun about, searching out the cause of her discomfort.

  “You are Medusa?” a deep voice spoke, a voice she did not know.

  She had not seen anyone enter the temple, nor did she hear any footsteps on the marble floor. Yet there was someone here, with her.

  “I am.” Her voice wavered.

  A soft chuckle bounced off the walls as a man stepped from the fog. He looked at her, intently. “Of course you are.”

  Medusa stepped back as he approached.

  He was handsome – more handsome than any man she’d ever seen. Laughing eyes, the palest blue, widened as they inspected her. He sounded amused when he asked, “You are her priestess?” He chuckled again. “No wonder Athena would keep you.”

  “Do I know you, sir?” No. She would have remembered such a face, angular and fierce, demanding of attention. From the breadth of his chest and the confident air of his stance, he was not a man to trifle with or forget.

  His eyes traveled over her again. “No, lady, you do not.” He paused, adding, “Not yet.”

  She stiffened under the heat of his gaze, speaking coolly. “Have you brought a tribute for the Goddess?”

  One side of the man’s mouth elevated. “I come with no offering.”

  No matter his odd manner, this man was in Athena’s house and she must welcome him. “Your prayers are offering enough. On a night such as this, with the feasts of Anestheria, you are most loyal to the Goddess.”

  “I am not a pilgrim and I have no prayers for Athena.” He did not move, and yet he was suddenly before her. So close that she could feel his breath upon her face. “I come for you.”

  Medusa stepped back, unsettled all the more. Alarm gripped her. But here, protected within Athena’s temple, she had no reason to fear. Did she?

  He smiled, his voice cajoling, “You’ve been loyal to Athena, to Athens, these many years?”

  “I have.” She fought the urge to shiver.

  “And you’re happy to serve as a priestess?” His voice was husky, mocking. “Serving your Goddess?”

  The fog grew, rising high and encircling them. It clung to him, she noted, swirling about his shoulders like a vaporous cloak. His eyes narrowed as he waited for her answer.

  She nodded, unease flooding her. Yes, she should fear this man.

  His lips curved into a dazzling smile. “Have you not wanted more?”

  Her voice trembled. “What more is there? To serve the Goddess is enough, sir.”

  “There is more – much more. And I would give it to you.”

  Medusa stepped back again, knowing the temple wall was close behind her.

  “I would give you your heart’s desire, sweet Medusa.” His voice was entreating.

  She looked at him, wary. Was this a test? “I am the Goddess Athena’s until she releases me. It is my heart’s desire to serve her.”

  The man looked at the temple altar, his eyes narrowing further. “Arranging treats? Discarding those Athena casts off? Hiding yourself from the eyes of those who would feast upon your beauty? This is your heart’s desire?” His voice coaxed, tempting her.

  No, her heart cried out. No. She did want more. She wanted Ariston. By the Gods, she wanted to be his. She wanted to love him, and have him love her. Her heart twisted and her cheeks colored.

  This was not the time for such realizations – surely. She could not lie. But she dared not speak the truth. So she said only, “It is an honor to serve Athena.”

  “Yet you do not answer my question.” A slow smile pulled up the corner of his mouth, his gaze seeming to beckon her. “You do want more. I see it on your face. Come with me. Leave this place and come away, woman.”

  His words horrified her. She had no desire to go anywhere with this man. And she knew better than to consider breaking faith with Athena. That he dared to suggest such things… “You speak blasphemy,” she whispered.

  She glanced towards the temple’s entrance in panic. The fog was too thick, hiding all.

  He could take her if he chose to.

  His breath stirred the hair at her ear. “I cannot speak blasphemy, Medusa.” His voice was soft, silky. He moved effortlessly around her, the space that separated them so slight that a single step would compromise her. He was smiling as he came to stand before her again. “I am Poseidon.”

  Looking upon him, she knew it was true. He was Poseidon.

  She stared at him with wide eyes, her throat tightening painfully. She dropped to her knees.

  But why was he here? What was his purpose in coming to her?

  “Do not kneel before me, woman,” he commanded, waiting for her to stand before he continued. His voice was at her ear again, making her shiver uncontrollably, but he stood an arm’s length from her. “I could give you freedom, Medusa. Freedom to return home – if you wish. Or freedom from your parents, if you prefer, to do as you please.” His voice was husky, tickling her ear. “But I would have you come with me now.”

  She could make no sense of this. “My parents? Are you here on their behalf? Athena told me that I was…”

  His hands hovered over her shoulder, but he did not touch her. “Your lady can find another priestess. She uses you now to gain favor with Zeus and cause strife with me. ‘Tis more of our…game, no more. A game I shall end, as victor.” He leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “And you will be my reward, Medusa.”

  She looked up at him. “I don’t understand.”

  His eyes bore into hers, palest blue. “You will come with me. You will be my wife.”

  Medusa stared at him, her heart thumping desperately inside her chest. This was no test. Athena would not test her so.

  Then he… he wanted her? To marry? A God? Poseidon’s bride?

  She would have no say in these matters. Why would she? It was more than her father could dream of. It would be her duty, if her father wished it – he would most assuredly agree to such a match. Her duty to marry a God…this God. She cast a nervous glance at his magnificent face.


  There was no gold in his eyes, or wheaten curls on his brow. His skin would not glow in the sun, and his laugh would not make her heart swell. He was not warm. He was not her love.

  Her stomach twisted. She took a deep breath, her voice a strangled whisper. “You do me great honor, but I am Athena’s. I cannot leave my lady.” Would Athena fight for her? She did not know.

  He laughed, as if she had surprised him. “You cannot? Or you will not?” His voice dropped, the sound rumbling. “You would say no to me? To Poseidon?”

  She trembled. “I belong to Athena.”

  He rose high above her, elevated by the fog, to peer down at her. “You will belong to her no more. I will come back for you.”

  “Lady?” Ariston’s voice filled the temple.

  The sound of his voice sent terror coursing through her. This was Poseidon, a God. With a word he could end Ariston’s life. She felt the hot prick of tears burning her eyes.

  Poseidon watched her. “I will have you.”

  She felt the wetness of tears on her cheek, but she said nothing. There was nothing for her to say.

  But she saw Ariston then. And, as the cloud parted, he saw her. His anger was evident as he came towards them – his face twisted and his body grew taut and ready.

  Poseidon watched Ariston with an amused smile. Her fear mounted.

  Ariston charged, his sword drawn.

  Medusa drew breath to cry out. But Poseidon rose high into the air, buoyed by the fog, and vanished.

  The grey cloud thickened. It swirled around her, a vaporous serpent, before it gusted from the temple. As it left, it lifted Ariston and threw him against the wall with uncontrolled power. Ariston’s body fell to the floor, his head striking a column with a resounding thud.

  Medusa cried out, horrified at the sight of his still form. She ran towards his crumpled body and knelt beside him with her heart in her throat. But his chest rose and fell. He lived. Her tears spilled over at her relief.

  “Heal his wounds, Hera, for he is a son of Greece. Give him strength, Ares, for he is a warrior for Olympus…” she whispered prayers as she leaned over him, calling on each God.