Chapter Twenty
The sun was dropping toward the west when Orpheus strode in and pulled her to her feet, catching at her breast and buttocks. His expression was an obscene leer, and he said, “Come out to our room in the town, I want to be more private with you than I can be here in the palace.”
Eurydice was so shocked—she had never seen such a look on his face or been groped so crudely, even when he touched her and looked at her before coupling—that she let him pull her right out of the palace and down the street. Finally, when thought penetrated surprise and she realized the only thing that could have waked such an appetite in him, she wrenched her arm free and spat, “If it takes a field full of dead to rouse your lust, I can do without it!”
He turned to look at her in amazement. “Do not be so silly, Eurydice. I thought you understood. I could not think of a better excuse to get you out of that place where Medea’s nasty claws catch and turn over every thought. She is just the kind to find senseless killing stimulating. But actually, there was nothing to run away from. Jason and I think now that they were not real, only illusion, despite what Aietes said. They do not bleed, you know. And when one falls, at last, he turns back into a tooth!”
For the moment, what the dragon’s teeth were was far less important to Eurydice than what Orpheus was. She stared into his face. “You mean that lust was not real?”
He laughed. “Always when I am with you.”
“That is not what I mean, and you know it. In the palace—I could feel a hot sickness in you.”
He cocked his head questioningly. “Yes, of course. If I did not feel that excitement, Medea would not either. For that matter, those who listen to me would not feel my songs if I felt nothing. But it is not truly real.” He took her arm and caressed it gently. “When I desire you I cannot turn it off in a few heartbeats’ time.”
“An illusion like the dragon’s teeth soldiers?” Eurydice smiled, much relieved, covered his hand with hers, and began walking toward their inn again. After awhile she shook her head. “I have been thinking about the dragon’s teeth. I am not sure, even if they turn to teeth again that they are illusion. Aietes said the teeth were another gift to his ancestor from the gods.”
“How convenient. One would never have to hire soldiers and never run short of an army.” He laughed. “Jason must have thought of that. He was considering gathering up and keeping some of the dragon’s teeth.”
“No!” Eurydice exclaimed. “If they are not an illusion, you may be sure that Aietes has a true count of the number. Beside that, although I can sense no magic in them, I am quite certain they reek of Power to anyone who practices Aietes’ and Medea’s form of the art. Both Medea and Aietes would know at once if Jason tried to take and conceal some.”
“So I thought, and Jason agreed, but then he got the notion that if he could plant one tooth at a time, he could use the command word—”
“But if it did not work, the creature would have no one to fight but Jason. However good a fighter Jason is, I think the creature would kill him.”
“Oh, he thought of that. He managed to snatch a tooth from the corner where he had first set it as seed without drawing the attention of the still-fighting soldiers and had replanted it after all the others were dead. Then he did what you said and spoke as soon as its eyes opened. The trouble was that that word is only part of the spell, it seems. He spoke it and the creature stared at him, and continued to stare at him without aggression but without the capability of carrying out any order. There must be some other spell that makes it capable of understanding, but nothing we tried would invoke it.” Orpheus hesitated and then said, “He had to kill it before it was free of the earth.”
Eurydice shuddered. She could see by the twist of Orpheus’ lips that he, too, found it hard to stomach the notion of cutting the creature apart while it was helpless and unresisting. Still, it clearly did not feel as men felt, and Jason’s experiment had been reasonable.
“I am sorry that the idea did not work,” she said, as they entered the inn.
Orpheus looked surprised, but walked away to order a meal be brought up to them. Then he followed her up the stairs and closed the door of their chamber behind him before he asked softly, “Why? To speak the truth, those creatures send cold chills up my spine.”
“Mine too,” Eurydice agreed in an equally low voice, pulling Orpheus with her until they could sit at the tiny table and lean their heads close across it. “Still, they could have killed the serpent. Does it not occur to you that to be caught between Medea’s and Aietes’ wills is likely to be an uncomfortable situation? Aietes wants the serpent dead and Medea does not. And without support from the crew—”
“But you know that Jason told Mopsus to watch and follow.”
“And I am sure that Aietes guesses that Jason would do that. There will be some devices set to stop them.”
Orpheus said, “They are not easy to stop,” but he was frowning as he spoke.
“Not even by Aietes’ guardsmen?”
“I am not so worried about them. They have their good points, but cleverness is not one, and Jason’s crewmen are clever. I think the crew could avoid them, or a few could lead them away. If there are spells of confusion, though, the men could be wandering around in circles forever.”
“Our amulets stopped Medea’s spell,” Eurydice said thoughtfully. “I know it was only a minor spell, but my amulet also stopped Aietes’ freezing spell when he took the bulls from Jason at the field.”
“Freezing spell? Aietes used a freezing spell?”
“Yes, did your amulet not burn you?”
Orpheus looked shamefaced. “I was not wearing mine. I knew Medea would not be there and that Aietes would not try to cast a spell on the whole…” His voice drifted away. Aietes had not only tried, but succeeded in casting a spell on the whole crew. “I will not forget it again,” he went on a little grimly, “but how do you know he cast a freezing on us all?”
“Because I was caught by it by being almost as silly as you. My amulet burnt me, and I pulled it away from my skin without thinking—just as I saw everyone freeze. By the time I understood, it was too late. I, too, was frozen. But did you not wonder how Aietes came to be holding the bulls and Jason the sack of teeth when no one saw the exchange?”
“No, I did not,” Orpheus replied through thinned lips. “And no one else did, either. Was that part of the spell or a different one?”
Eurydice sighed. “I do not know. You cannot imagine how dreadful it is for me not to be able to feel their magic. It is as if I were suddenly deaf and blind.” She sighed again. “Of course, they do not seem to be able to feel my spells, either.”
“No, that is true.” Orpheus hesitated and then went on, “No one noticed when we wore the amulets, and yours almost saved you from Aietes’ spell. Could not an amulet break a spell of confusion?”
Eurydice shook her head. “I feel as if all I say is, I do not know, but it is the truth. This magic is utterly strange to me. Nonetheless, providing five or six of the men with amulets—I could not make any more than that,” not and also reserve enough strength for a spell of stunning or freezing against the serpent, she thought, but did not mention that, continuing smoothly, “and those five or six could lead others by the hand. It is a better plan than any I have thought of. I did think of going with the men, but—”
“No! Absolutely not! It is far too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous!” Eurydice burst out, jerking upright, too angry to moderate her voice. Orpheus gestured at her furiously, and she bent close to him again and lowered her voice but continued tautly, “It is too dangerous for me to follow with twenty or thirty men, but not too dangerous for you to go alone with Jason into the maw of the serpent?”
Orpheus shrugged indifferently. “Jason will have his potion and Medea will be with us as well as Aietes. As for me, I will have my amulet, and I will wear it against my skin. Besides, I will not be near enough to be taken into the serpent’s maw. I was
not thinking of any danger from the serpent. But if Aietes wishes to keep the whereabouts of the golden fleece secret, the gods alone know—if even they know—what traps have been set along the way. And I do not mean only magical traps. The crew must take their chances. They are oath-bound to help Jason obtain the fleece, but you are not. If you can make amulets for them, I will be grateful, but you will not go with them. You will stay here so I know where to find you when I return.”
“And if you do not return?” Eurydice’s dark eyes glittered.
“Then you will get on the ship with the part of the crew who will be holding it. They will take you to Salmydessus or to Kyzikos, or any other city you like, on their way home. But you are talking nonsense. I will return.”
Eurydice opened her mouth to make a scathing remark about the stupidity of overconfidence and the fact that she would do what she thought best, when she heard something scrape along the door. She jumped up and opened it, and the inn servant came in with a large tray, which he set on the table. Orpheus passed him a small piece of copper. Eurydice watched him go out the door and close it behind him. She was grateful for the interruption, feeling like a fool for arguing with Orpheus; she had never intended to tell him that she would go with him to confront the serpent. If he knew, he would worry, and Medea would pick the knowledge from his mind.
She was afraid to give in too easily, lest that make him suspicious, so all she said was, “Let us eat without quarreling,” and began to serve out the food.
Orpheus had looked at her fixedly for a moment after she spoke, but then obligingly began to talk about what sort of thing would be suitable for the amulets and where they could find such items. However, even when they were finished eating, Orpheus did not raise the question of her remaining behind, which rather surprised Eurydice. She had been ready, after suitable resistance, to give him a false promise, but she was glad it was not necessary—for a while. By the time they had gone out into the market and found six harmless looking trinkets on which Eurydice could impress her spells, Orpheus’ seeming indifference to whether she would remain in Colchis had begun to worry her.
It was nearly dark when they left the market, but Eurydice insisted on going back to the palace to retrieve Orpheus’ amulet, which she wished to recharge, and then to the temple of her Goddess to cast the spells. She could have cast them in the inn or even in the palace, if they were as invisible to Aietes and Medea as their spells were to her, but in the palace a kind of uneasiness prickled her skin and set up a fluttering in her belly. She even clung to Orpheus and begged him to come with her, saying she was afraid to walk alone in the dark. He looked at her with raised brows and a small smile, for she had told him more than once that she could defend herself, but he came readily enough and enchanted the priestesses while he waited in an outer courtyard by singing praise songs to their Lady.
In the inner chamber of the sanctuary, Eurydice could not hear her lover’s singing. She was aware only of a sudden upwelling of Power that flooded into her and poured from her into the amulets until they quivered and glowed. One, a little glazed ceramic dog, burst with a loud report and peppered the chamber with tiny shards, but none struck Eurydice. She wished, as she gathered up the amulets, that she and Orpheus could stay at the temple where she was sure they would be safe, but this was consecrated to the Maiden Huntress. No provision was made at this temple for rites of fertility, as in temples of the Mother, and this night, which might be her last with him for all she could know, she could not forgo her need for Orpheus’ body.
Although she pleaded with him to sleep at the inn, that need made her agree to go with him when Orpheus insisted he had to stay at the palace to be sure he would be with Jason when he left. But when they were within, the strange fluttering in her belly and an even stranger quivering inside her head drove her to throw herself upon him as soon as the door of their chamber was closed. Eurydice was surprised herself and could feel Orpheus stiffen, not only to hold them upright but with shock. Although she was no reluctant bedfellow, in the past, she had usually responded to his advances, not initiated her own—at least not so grossly.
His rigidity was warning enough. She did not yield to her terrible craving to seize his genitals or bite his mouth or even drag off his tunic with fingers bent to claw his skin. Desperately, she fought the insidious urges that beset her. Calling on her Goddess for help, she forced restraint upon herself, pressing the length of her body against his, bringing her arms up to hold him—as much to control her hands as to satisfy her need to embrace him. And one hand struck the cithara. Again she had to fight an insane urge to rip the instrument off him and fling it across the room.
“I am afraid,” she whispered.
The stiffness went out of Orpheus’ body immediately. His head bent over hers and the grip of his arms changed from merely holding to prevent her from falling or pushing him over to a tighter and yet gentler embrace. Then, with an abrupt push, he thrust her away. Eurydice had to ball her hands into fists to keep from seizing him, and then she saw that he had put his hands behind his back.
He said, “There is nothing to fear, love. If Jason kills the serpent, Aietes will protect him from Medea and if he does not, Medea will protect him from Aietes. If the fleece is taken, Aietes will not have any cause to silence the crew. And no matter what happens, you will be safe in Colchis, blameless.” But his voice was strange, harsh, almost cracking, under its smooth beauty and his eyes, usually so gentle, glared.
“You fool,” she cried, “I do not fear for me, but for you. What if the serpent kills Jason?”
He shook his head and said through gritted teeth, “I do not believe Medea would permit that. I do believe she well and truly loves him.”
As he spoke, Eurydice could see the muscles in his upper arms flex, as if he were straining against something. Suddenly, he whirled away from her. She almost leapt upon him again, barely checking herself as she realized he was lifting his cithera off his back and placing it on a bench with exaggerated care. Somewhere inside a warning struggled to free itself from the smothering weight of lust that lay upon it. Eurydice was dimly aware, but not enough to prevent her from pulling the pin from her cloak and tearing off her gown. Her hand rose to lift off the amulet, but at that moment Orpheus’ tunic fell to the floor following his cloak. Eurydice stepped forward, hands outstretched to stroke his buttocks, to slide between his legs.
She never had the chance. He turned around, seized her, threw her on the bed, and flung himself atop her. Startled by a ferocity that was no normal part of Orpheus’ lovemaking, Eurydice again became briefly aware that something was wrong. She struggled against the urge to meet violence with violence, to claw him and strike him, but, in fact, Orpheus did not follow that violence with more. For a long moment he simply lay atop her, kissing her hungrily. He seemed to be enforcing stillness upon himself, but Eurydice found it only increased her own lust. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing, the tiny trembling of the muscles of his belly and thighs, the heat and pressure of his hard shaft, which could not rise because it was trapped by her body.
She was flooded by a conflicting tide of emotions—atop was a red and ugly lust that demanded she use Orpheus like a dildo, but mixed with it was her own honest desire, more urgent and more violent than she could ever remember, but still eager to give him as much joy as she received. Both demanded their linking, however, and her arms tightened, one around his neck and the other sliding down over hip and buttock to scratch gently at the backs of his legs and probe between his thighs. That was hard. She had all she could do not to dig into the tender flesh with her nails.
Orpheus cried out and bucked against her, released her lips, and twisted his head and neck so he could seize on her breasts. The movement was so quick and violent that Eurydice expected he would bite her. Instead, his tongue licked out, passing over one nipple and then the other. The quickness remained; he moved his head from side to side so swiftly that the sensation in her breasts seemed continuous. Eurydice
began to shake with need. Her ability to struggle against the urge to seize and rape became weaker. She pulled at Orpheus, too lost in her passion to find words for what she wanted.
Fortunately words were not necessary. As if he could no longer resist, Orpheus lifted himself, curving his body so that his mouth did not leave the breast he had settled upon. He was sucking now, a little too hard for comfort, but Eurydice had a great aching hollow to fill and the pain, which normally repelled her, now only increased her lust. She felt for his shaft, scored it with her nails; he gripped her arms so hard her flesh ridged between his fingers. That pain incited her to respond, to dig in her nails and tear, but her need to fill herself with him was now even greater. She positioned him, embraced him with her legs, and tightened them about him with passionate strength as he thrust to drive himself deeply into her.
He howled as his shaft plunged home, throwing up his head and arching his back to push himself still deeper. Seated so far that the bones of his pubis and hers ground together, he dropped forward and drew, shaking as he fought for control, but Eurydice’s locked legs slammed him back into her. She heaved against him, ignoring the bruising she endured while trying to swallow him whole, and writhed from side to side. Orpheus was stronger. Flexing his knees and straightening his arms, he drew free. Eurydice cried out in protest, but he plunged down again so hard her body slid up a little in the bed. Once more he heaved and plunged, but this time he tried to lie still. Eurydice could not endure it. She flexed and relaxed her legs, wriggled back and forth.
“Dice stop,” he gasped.
She did hear him, but she no longer cared. Eurydice’s hands had joined her legs in forcing his body to move within her. Orpheus struggled not to close his hands so hard that he would choke the breath from her—but not for long. Soon every other desire was drowned in a climax so violent that he cried out more in despair than pleasure, hearing Eurydice’s voice also, choked and savage, as ecstasy tore her apart.
Enchanted Fire Page 36
