Enchanted Fire

by Roberta Gellis

Orpheus laughed softly. “It was not the room I was looking at.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her neck—and the cithara slipped off his back and thwacked her on the hip. Eurydice jerked away. Orpheus hooked his fingers under the strap and pulled it off with such vehemence that Eurydice caught his hand. If he damaged the instrument in this moment of passion, he would never be able to forget it, and the bitter memory would forever be tangled up with the sweet. She took the cithara and laid it carefully on the small table with the leather pouch that held her mirror. His cloak was off by the time she turned back and the laces on his tunic undone. Eurydice slipped her hands under the sleeveless garment and loosened his shirt while he pulled the tunic over his head. He shivered, but not with cold, pulled the shirt off too, and stood naked in magnificent readiness. Eurydice looked him up and down, pulled the pin from her cloak, dropped it on the floor, and smiled.

  Slowly she raised her hands to untie her sleeves—one tie, then one on the other side, another, and another on the other side. “It will go quicker if you help,” she murmured.

  “I am in no hurry at all,” Orpheus replied, his lips half smiling, his eyes fixed on her smooth brown shoulders from which, when the next tie was undone, it was clear the gown would slide down and expose her breast.

  Her hands began to shake on the next pair, however, and Orpheus had mercy. He came closer and kissed the bared flesh while he undid the remainder of the ties. Eurydice had not been idle while he was engaged in that task. She had untied her girdle so that her gown slipped to the floor. Orpheus stepped back and gazed at her.

  “Now I am sorry that my art is music rather than sculpture,” he said. “Had I the other skill, I could keep you thus forever for my pleasure.”

  Eurydice laughed. “Models of naked ladies are very unsatisfactory. Naked men, however—

  “What a disgusting thought,” Orpheus exclaimed, grinning broadly. “That was not what I meant at all. And anyway, you are quite wrong. What good would a statue of me do you with my standing man hard against my belly as he is? Stone does not bend to suit a woman’s pleasure.”

  “Ah well, I cannot complain that he stands at attention so hard, can I?” Eurydice put out a hand and gently circled Orpheus’ shaft. “And it is warm and smooth. You are right, I would not care for a rough stone statue…”

  Orpheus had stiffened when she touched him and closed his eyes. For a moment he let her handle him, then with a low groan, he seized her by the buttocks and drew her hard against him. The move took her by surprise, and her hand on his shaft was imprisoned between them. He gasped and relaxed his grip just long enough for her to pull her hand tree and raise both arms to encircle his neck. He lifted and she pulled herself up along his body, but the standing man had jumped hard upright again as soon as her hand released him. Her belly slid up along its length, but not high enough for the shaft to find its sheath. Groaning again, Orpheus let her down so he could seek a better grip and lift her higher.

  “No,” Eurydice whispered. “Let us lie down.”

  She was shaking with desire, but a touch of common sense had been restored to her by the pain caused by Orpheus’ powerful fingers digging into her flesh and the loss of control she had felt when her feet left the floor. The soft words made him hesitate, but from the glazed look in his eyes and the way his hands moved, he had heard no more than sounds or was so fixed on the quickest satisfaction of his need that he did not understand. Eurydice had to force one of her arms between them the moment her toes touched the ground. She pressed down until her fingers touched the bared red head and she tickled it gently.

  Orpheus arched his back and his grip on her weakened. She slid her hand down, then up again, circling the red tip. He gasped and cried out softly, his hands moving distractedly, but she leaned away, so she could work her hand up and down, pressing her thumb against the little pulsating mouth and releasing it. His voice, piercingly sweet, began to rise, and Eurydice used her other hand to draw his head down toward her so she could dam his lips with hers.

  To her amazement, Eurydice found herself as excited as her partner. The lips of her nether mouth were swollen and dripping and behind them was a void that ached to be filled. Desperately, she pushed Orpheus backward. She no longer cared whether they fell to the floor or found the bed, but Orpheus was not so completely lost in his body’s sensations as to lose his balance. He staggered back until the bed caught him behind the knees and then he let himself fall. Frantically, Eurydice wriggled up his body and impaled herself.

  Intense relief at having her aching void filled was almost instantly replaced with a piercing pleasure that was almost pain. Orpheus groaned as if he were the one that had been stabbed and bucked against her. Eurydice wailed. Orpheus bucked again, gasping with effort, his hands on her hips encouraging her to move with him. Eurydice slid up, plunged down, then again, faster, hardly aware of Orpheus’ moans and ecstatic cries, sobbing and crying herself as the pain/pleasure grew more and more intense until she was overwhelmed and fell forward against her lover.

  She was not allowed to rest in peace. “Move!” Orpheus groaned, and she did heave up and slide down, almost fearfully at first because she did not think she could live through another climax. However, nothing more violent than a pleasant warmth and friction assaulted her senses and she began to plunge and wriggle with more enthusiasm and inventiveness. Not for long. Orpheus arched up toward her, again crying out so loudly that she muted him with her lips. A moment later he grasped her hips and held them tight against his own so she could not move.

  “Enough,” he sighed. “You have taken all I have. There is no more in me.”

  “Oh Goddess,” Eurydice breathed. “I never knew it could be like that.”

  Orpheus sighed, possibly in agreement. Afterward, there was a brief, exhausted silence in which Orpheus and Eurydice just breathed. Then Eurydice reached a languid arm toward the top of the bed and drew as much of the blanket as she could over their still-linked bodies. Now that passion was spent, it was too cool to be naked. The movement was all she could manage, however, and she let her head drop to Orpheus’ shoulder. Eventually his shaft shrank and slipped out of her body, and she let herself slide off him, pulling the blanket with her so he was covered.

  “For me also,” Orpheus muttered. “I thought my soul would leap out after my seed. Where did you learn that?”

  “Mostly at the temple,” Eurydice answered drowsily. “Not with men, of course. The priestesses knew I was Gifted and were not training me for those rites, but we were all taught what to do to bind a man in case it should become necessary.” She turned her head, drew it back a little to where she could see Orpheus, and added, “It was necessary, not in the temple but after I left. The skill saved my life more than once—and I do not consider that to be whoring. But before you become jealous, let me say to you that no man with whom I coupled ever brought me to cry aloud in joy. No, not one ever brought me joy. I did not know what it was.” She closed her eyes and her breathing deepened. “I will never leave you,” she whispered, the words slurring more and more as she drifted off to sleep.

  She did not sleep very long. First exhaustion carried her deep, but in a little while a sense of unease pursued her into her dreams, making her run wildly after a disappearing male figure and when she had finally caught up, having it disappear into a mocking mist as her hand caught the shoulder.

  Even before she was fully awake, she realized she was alone in the bed and she jerked upright, cursing the trust and after-love languor that had tricked her into speaking the truth. She knew men did not easily accept the fact that there had been others in their lovers’ lives. She could have said that desire alone had instructed her knowing hands and lips.

  At that moment she realized that the light in the room was from a lighted lamp, the wick burning bright and clean in good oil. A quick glance told her that Orpheus’ clothing was gone. Her heart sank again, but then she saw his cithara still lay on the table. He had not left her. Passion might make him
forget the fragility of his instrument and let him cast it aside too roughly, but hurt and disappointment would never make him leave it behind. She got up, straightened the blanket, and got back into bed as she did not want to put her clothing on and imply she was ready to leave. If Orpheus was, he could tell her.

  It was not long before she learned how ridiculous her fears had been. She heard steps on the ladder, a thump on the door, which then opened to show Orpheus with a skin of wine under his arm and a large platter of bread, cheese, fried shellfish of some kind, and cold meat in his hands. Eurydice leapt up to help him, moving the cithara out of the way and laughing at the heaped platter.

  “Have you invited guests?” she asked, snatching up her cloak and pulling it around her.

  “No, of course not, you silly woman,” he replied, laughing. “Are you not hungry? I am famished. All that exercise. Besides, I felt I would need to renew my strength.”

  “Ah! Well, I will assist you in that laudable purpose,” she said, and popped one of the shellfish into his mouth. “It is a shame they did not have oysters,” she added thoughtfully.

  “I do not need oysters,” Orpheus said indignantly. “In fact, I can scarcely decide whether to fill my mouth—or yours.”

  “Perhaps we could do both,” Eurydice said blandly. “If you move the stool back from the table, I could sit down on you. Then you could fill your mouth and mine at the same time. You—” she had to stop, half alarmed, and yet wanting to laugh at the expression on Orpheus’ face.

  “Woman!” he thundered. “I cannot decide whether you are trying to kill me—for if I did not choke on whatever I had in my mouth, I would surely fall off the stool and crack my head—or only trying to establish for all time that your place is on top.” He glared a moment longer, then grinned. “Let’s try it.”

  “Oh, no,” she protested. “I had no idea my little plan could have such dire results. How do you think I would feel if you choked or fell off the stool just when I was climbing the ladder ready to fall off the roof. You would be dead and no longer care, but I—”

  “But my being dead would not spoil your pleasure,” Orpheus said with great solemnity. “I have heard that men dead by sudden shock can stand erect for hours.”

  “So?” Eurydice asked coldly. “And what about next time? What are a few hours when I expect to get a lifetime’s use out of you?”

  Orpheus caught her in his arms, all the teasing gone from his face. “Do you? Ah, sweet beloved I cannot think of anything better to do with my life than give it to you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Later Eurydice apologized to Orpheus for laughing at him over the food and wine he had brought. Although they had eaten part of the generous supply after they made love the second time—and found it just as good, this time with Orpheus on top—there was enough with which to break their fast after a chance tangling of limbs woke them at first light the next morning. Not that either thought of the food then. Both knew they should rise at once, that Jason would be furious if he had missed the tide on their account. But a kiss and warm embrace led to more intimate strokings and to a slow, gentle lovemaking that was a defiance of the idea that Jason’s desires or any other thing on earth could be more important than their joined bodies.

  Then, since both agreed they might as well be punished for stealing a sheep as for stealing a lamb, they sat down and finished what remained of the food and wine. Arriving at the ship well after the sun had risen, they found their defiance had been empty. Jason had not returned himself. Instead, Eurytos, one of their own men, had come back to say that Phineus was not in the palace and Jason had accepted an offer to guest there.

  Orpheus went to seek Eurytos at once and ask whether a party should not return to the palace now that it was light to make sure Jason was not being held against his will.

  Eurytos shook his head. “I think something is wrong in the palace,” he admitted, “but no ill will was directed against Jason. I am sure of that. I think Phineus is in trouble and his wife and chief advisor hope that Jason will be able to save him. I am not sure of this, for I was sent back before any more was said, other than the formal offer of guesting. Jason knew there would be strings attached, but if we want Phineus… And Jason has nine men with him, including Castor and Polydeuces.”

  Like the rest of the crew, Orpheus had to accept Eurytos’ judgement. Since they were utter strangers, it was unlikely that any blood feud or other grievance against Jason could induce treachery in Phineus’ palace, and if ransom was desired, they would learn quickly enough. But Eurytos was proven right. Before any great anxiety could begin to build, Jason himself returned to the ship with the tale of the rat Eurytos had smelled.

  Phineus was, indeed, in trouble. He was a Seer of some renown, having accepted blindness in exchange for the inner vision, but an incautious revelation about the doings of the gods had brought upon him a plague of creatures called harpies. They were winged beings, shaped as women above the waist, but as carrion birds below. Filthy and stinking, immune to magic, being magical creatures themselves, and virtually immune to physical attack because of their ability to fly and to pass through walls and closed doors, they fell upon Phineus each time he tried to eat or drink, despoiling or stealing the food and fouling everything and everyone in the area with urine and feces. They were dangerous as well as loathsome, for a venom in their claws caused painful wounds that would not heal. To save his family and people from this plague, Phineus had retreated to a lodge in the hills.

  “So, when you said you needed information that Phineus had, his wife promised he would give it to you if you saved him from the harpies,” Orpheus said. “Very well, our armor will protect us pretty well from the claws. Hmmm. I wonder if I could distract them by singing.”

  “No,” Jason snapped, adding caustically, “Whatever the harpies are, they are not song birds. What is more, I have learned my lesson. You are not going to sing a note to any king or near any king until we get to Colchis. This is a problem we must solve without music or magic.” On the last word, however, he frowned and looked enquiringly at Eurydice.

  She shook her head. “I would be willing to try to break the spell, but I am certain such an effort would be a waste of time and of strength. Winged beings, the upper half human the lower birdlike…” She shook her head again. “To create or transform such is beyond the ability of any mage I know—certainly beyond mine. The gods are blamed or praised for much that they may have no part in, but the harpies must be their work.”

  “And I doubt a little kitchen spell could make them believe their maws were full,” Jason said with a lift of his brow that made clear what he thought of such “little” spells.

  “It might,” Eurydice retorted, smiling, “but if the tale you told us is correct, it would not matter. They would just befoul the food without eating it.” She recognized the barb in Jason’s remark, but did not care. Confident of Orpheus’ desire and sated as she was, Jason’s little barbs could not pierce her.

  “Are there many?” Idmon asked. “If we could catch them in a net—” He stopped as Jason shook his head.

  “There are only three, but they can come through the walls, through closed doors and windows. How could a net hold them?”

  “Sticky!” Eurydice exclaimed. Everyone turned to stare at her as if she had grown another head. She laughed. “If the net were sticky, it might cling to them and they might drag it with them when they tried to escape. If men were holding the net, it is possible they might be stopped by the wall or window shutter or whatever the harpies passed through. Then others might go out and slaughter the creatures on the other side.” As she spoke, her expression of interested amusement changed and she frowned. “No. It might be too dangerous. The magical power might draw the men through with the harpies. Who knows where they might come out.”

  Jason dismissed that warning with a flick of the hand. “You have leapt a step too far. I cannot believe such a scheme would work. If magic cannot keep the creatures from passing th
rough the walls or doors, why should it permit the net to cling to them.”

  “Not magic,” Eurydice stated. “I am sure whatever magic could do has been tried already. We must use pitch or that tree sap that sticks to flesh and cannot be wiped or washed away but must wear off.”

  “So simple.” Jason stared at her. “Could anything so simple work?”

  “Why not?” Orpheus sounded amused. “When so clearly a magical curse is sent, people do tend to try magical remedies, and when those fail, they become discouraged and say the curse cannot be lifted.”

  “That is true,” Mopsus said with a laugh. “I was about to do just that—say we must seek another guide to Colchis. Instead, let us think of how one catches birds.”

  “With bait and limed twigs,” a young man called Zetes said. “I have done it many times in the high meadows.”

  Mopsus nodded. “But the bait—Phineus’ food—is already laid and recognized. Now if that food were changed, say, a rounded heap of the tree resin on a platter made to look like a jelly, it might well deceive the harpies. I doubt it would be heavy enough to hold down one of them, but it could immobilize a set of claws.”

  Jason was smiling. “Hmm, yes. Idaia, Phineus’ wife, said they fly up and rain down foul matter when armed men approach them, so they must be subject to physical attack. A double hand of dishes of the sap, each covered with a layer of something, to look like a haunch of meat or a roasted bird, could be prepared—provided we could find enough tree sap. Possibly, we could even fix the dishes to the table in some way.”

  “It does not have to be tree sap. Any other substance that was equally sticky would do,” Castor said. “Polydeuces and I will go around the chandlers’ shops and ask what they have.”

  “Do not say you plan to use it on the harpies that are tormenting Phineus,” Jason cautioned.

  “Then for what could we want so much sticky stuff?” Castor began.

  Polydeuces hit him in the head. “For a jest, perhaps. We will think of something. Do you want half the population out at Phineus’ lodge before us trying to catch the harpies? Once the idea is broached, others may like it as well as we do and hurry to try to win the king’s favor.”