Chapter Four
Ariston watched the others, finding little in their words or actions of interest. He knew Xenia’s plans, she was far too obvious. The last few months, her banquets brought Athens’ finest to her door—many having eligible daughters and nieces. If she sought some to distract him, to bind him here, she would fail. No matter how gently or firmly he assured her he would not marry, she refused to hear him.
“My father says you’ve brought sense to the Council,” the young woman Xenia had left hanging upon his arm spoke again.
“Your father is generous,” Ariston answered, his tone cordial but hardly encouraging.
“No, sir,” the girl leaned forward as she murmured. “He is sparing and harsh… Which makes his praise of note.”
He looked at the girl—a young woman he supposed. She had lively dark eyes, her long black curls were artfully arranged to fall about her long neck and shoulders. She stared at him, waiting, curious.
“You’re the hero of Salamis?” Her gaze traveled, boldly, over his face.
“Many fought, many died.” He’d not meant to sound harsh, but there was no denying the edge in his voice. “Many died… heroes.”
Her eyes went round. “I’d not meant to offend you-”
“You did not.” He barely repressed a sigh, his agitation growing. “If you’ll excuse me-”
“Do I bore you, Ariston of Rhodes?” the lady asked, her brows high. “I was sent to woo you, you see. My father is quite determined that I gain your affection. Hero of Greece, nephew of Themistocles… You would honor my family.”
Ariston stared at the woman. “You speak your mind.”
She smiled. “I do.” Her cheeks colored. “I find you handsome… Most handsome. A man in form and deed.” Her gaze wandered down his neck, across his shoulders. “He has tried before, to find me a husband. But, I admit, it would please me, beyond the scheming of my father, to wed you. The others have all been… lacking.”
He blew out a slow breath. “I am married, lady.” His hand clasped the wooden owl pendant, relishing the knowledge that she’d done the same... He savored the slight weight of it against his skin.
It was her turn to frown, her gaze falling to his hand, the pendant. “But… Your grief must be great.”
Medusa and Galenus’ death were attributed to the Persians invasion. It was a myth that neither he nor anyone in Xenia’s house saw the need to correct. The truth, one still full of too many questions and uncertainties, would see them driven from Athens and branded mad.
He nodded, clearing his throat before he offered, “I will return your honesty lady. You and your father honor me, but I vow I shall never love again.”
Her frown grew. “Your love is not required, Ariston, for your heart is clearly gone. But your family? Your basileus? You’ve need of a wife, a partner.”
Again he regarded the woman, stunned anew by her candor. “You will make a fine wife for a politician, I think.” He could not help but laugh.
She smiled. “And you would make a fine politician, loyal to your people, to the Gods. The people revere their heroes and you, Ariston of Rhodes, are a true hero, I think.”
He could not help the bitter curl of his lips. “No lady, I would not. For I hold no affection for the Gods, save one. They have broken faith with those most loyal, time and time again. I tire of building our country, our countrymen, only to see them wreak havoc on all that man has wrought. If I was a hero, that time is over.” He did not break her gaze, but stared, relentlessly, into her dark eyes.
Finally, she withdrew. He saw her furtive glance about the courtyard, her nervous swallow. He also saw Xenia and Elpis, standing together, watching him. He gazed upon them, not bothering to hide his disappointment at their match-making, and beckoned them.
Xenia was quick, sensing his companions’ distress. “Fotini,” the regal woman tucked the younger woman’s arm through hers. “Come, I’ve a delight to tempt your taste-buds.”
Fotini spared Ariston one last glance before returning to the banquet table.
“You frightened her,” Elpis said, standing at his side.
“You left me no choice.” His tone was heavy with reproach.
“She is smart, lovely,” Elpis paused. “She would make a good partner.”
“I would not. I will not pretend to be something I am not. Let us leave it at that.” He offered her a small smile before staring up, into the night sky.
The moon was full, a silver-white beacon in the dark sky. But its luster was tarnished by the dozens of tapers and torches illuminating Xenia’s courtyard. He felt caged, lost and adrift.
He’d had enough of Athens, of Council, of society. Months had passed. Months that did nothing to ease the pain in his heart, the weariness of his soul.
Months that saw Spiridion’s nightmares wane while his young body grew strong and sure. Each day proved the boy more capable than the last, his skill with the discus enviable for one so young. And little Kore walked, babbling and smiling at anyone who looked her way. His parents would welcome such children into their home, their family. They were happy, whole children.
“Ariston?”
He sighed, speaking his mind. “I crave quiet, Elpis, some sense of anonymity… I tire of counsel, of strategy, of being hunted by those hoping to marry the hero of Salamis” He glanced at Elpis, the harshness of his voice barely discernable. He walked from the celebrations to the olive tree on the far side of the courtyard.
“Rest easy, Ariston. Fotini was the last on our list.” Elpis’ tone was light. But he saw the crease of her brow, the stiffening of her frame. “You are leaving… Will you return to Rhodes? Or go after the raiders? Ektor spoke of troops-”
“Ill-trained.”
“Then stay and train those that have need of it.”
“Tis time for me to go.” His gaze met hers.
“Where? Tell me it is Rhodes so I can set aside this sense of dread.” She stared at him, a myriad of emotions playing across her kind face.
“You need not worry over me, lady. You have a family to think of.”
“A family you are a part of, for my lady was sister to me in all but blood. And you, her husband, are my brother. So I ask you, brother, do you seek death?”
Her words, all of them, cooled the heat in his veins. “I seek answers. Peace,” his spoke softly. “Death does not matter.”
“Elpis,” Xenia called her, waving her to her side.
“Go, Elpis,” Ariston nodded. “You’re the lady of this house now, Xenia’s daughter. Look to the future.”
She said no more, for that he was thankful. There was nothing left to say. He would leave in the morning… to scout, alone, for any signs of new attacks. He’d not waited to be asked, he’d volunteered. He welcomed the chance to vent the anger that still ranged within him. In truth, he’d planned to leave for Rhodes, to make ready for Kore and Spiridion’s travels. If he came upon any Persians, any threat to Greece, he would not hesitate to send them to Hades.
Hades. His master once this mortal life was through. Such knowledge did not trouble him, Hades had seemed a rationale lord—one who prided duty and loyalty. Both of which Ariston had pledged to him. Once he returned…
The Underworld.
Medusa. She was there already. While he was trapped alone.
Where was she? Had they banished her to Tartarus? For loving him? His fear would press in on him, terror and rage threatening his fragile hold on sanity.
He peered up into the leaves, drawing deep the cool night air. He’d spent most nights here. He no longer sought the owl he heard night after night. Perhaps it needed its solitude as he did. But he left it treats, hoping to coax it from the tall branches. The treats would disappear, but the owl had yet to reveal itself.
He pulled the dried fish from his chiton and glanced into the tree. He placed it on the same limb, low and broad enough for the animal to perch and enjoy its meal.
“What are you doing?” It was Spiridion’s voice.
&n
bsp; Ariston turned, smiling. “You should be sleeping.”
The boy shook his head, casting a bleary-eyes at Xenia’s guests milling about inside the great hall, on the far side of the courtyard.
Ariston nodded.
“Are you feeding her, too?” the boy asked. “She’s very shy. But she’s come to my window a few times.” He smiled. “She’s lovely.”
“She?” Ariston asked, hoping in spite of himself.
“The owl,” Spiridion climbed onto the bench, peering up into the tree. “She has a hole, there…”
Ariston looked up, unable to discern any hole or nest.
The boy looked at Ariston, his expression grave. “My dream… I thought it was a dream, but now I know,” he paused, taking a deep breath before going in, “Medusa told the owl to watch out for me. And Kore as well.”
“She did?” Ariston’s question was a whisper.
“The night before you came… I followed her from the cabin, saw her talking to the owl in the tree. She pleaded with Thea to watch over us, and you,” his voice was low. “And she has. I see her, wherever I go.” He smiled then, shrugging.
Ariston ignored the heat that burned his eyes. “She’s a fierce protector.”
The boy clicked, then cooed – a perfect imitation of Thea’s endearing call. The very call she’d made for Medusa, her beloved mistress. Ariston sat, watching the boy as he clicked and cooed… until Thea answered him. “There she is,” the boy’s voice was ecstatic. “She’s there.”
Indeed, Thea sat, high in the branches of the tree – her feathers making her almost invisible.
Ariston felt the air leave his lungs. “Thea,” he said to her. “I’m thankful you’re alive and well, little one.” He offered his arm to her. Thea cooed, flapping her wings once before flying down to perch on his proffered arm.
“She is lovely,” Spiridion was in awe. “You are,” he spoke to the owl.
“She is, indeed.” Ariston agreed.
Spiridion reached up, tentatively. “Ektor said she was not fond of people-”
Ariston smiled. “If Medusa left you in Thea’s charge, you’ve no need to fear her.”
Spiridion was humming softly, under his breath, a song all too familiar to Ariston.
“Where did you hear that song?” he whispered.
“Medusa would hum it. Kore had favored it, curling up and falling asleep without too great a fuss. I’d learned it well,” Spiridion’s touch was light upon Thea’s head.
The owl’s eyes shut, a soft coo bubbling up from her chest.
“Perhaps she likes it as well?” Spiridion asked.
“I’m sure of it,” Ariston nodded. Now that Thea’s affection for the boy was confirmed, his mind could wander to that night… the night he and his lady wife heard this song. It was their first night together…the first in a handful of nights. He’d ached with need for her, wanted her for so long. Yet she was a maid, rarely touched by any hand and never touched by that of a man. Her words rolled over him.
“Do I not please you?” she whispered.
His eyes grew wide.
“I…” she faltered.
“You please me,” he spoke softly. “You please me greatly, lady.”
She placed her hand on his chest, “Too long I’ve wondered how it would feel, to have your arms about me…”
“Wonder no more.” His arms came around her, pressing her to him.
“She likes me,” Spiridion was laughing, Thea had climbed onto his head and was rooting through his hair with her beak.
Ariston shook the memories from him, smiling. “It would seem so.”
The owl stopped when he spoke, hopping back onto his arm and clicking. Her yellow eyes peered into his.
Spiridion yawned.
“To bed,” Ariston nudged. “I leave in the morning.”
Spiridion frowned. “When will you be back?”
“When it is time to bring you to Rhodes.”
The boys smile was broad. “Then hurry back.” He hesitated, then slipped one arm around Ariston’s neck and pressed himself close. “Please.”
“And you attend Ektor, Elpis’ husband—learn from him. And the lady Xenia.”
Spiridion stepped back, nodding. He looked at the owl. “I wonder how she will fare on a sea voyage.”
Ariston regarded Thea. “Know this, Spiridion, Thea is from Olympus.”
“Truly?”
He nodded. “She was given to Medusa by Athena herself. In the name of love, she has survived captivity, starvation, and cruelty in the name of love.”
Spiridion looked at the owl, reverence and respect clear upon his young face. “I will love her dearly.”
Ariston nodded, the lump in his throat hard to speak around. “Then she will never leave you, for as long as you have need of her. Won’t you, little one?”
Spiridion’s hand stroked the owl once. “Little one?”
“My lady called her such.”
“I will see you in the morning, mighty Thea.” Spiridion’s hand offered another stroke. “Safe journeys, Ariston.”
Ariston nodded. “Sleep well, boy.”
Spiridion smiled broadly before scampering back to bed.
He leaned back against the tree, holding Thea high, so their eyes could meet.
“Oh the secrets you keep,” he murmured. “I would know them. You keep the answers I seek, I know. And yet, I wonder if you would tell, if you were able?” He stroked the feathers on her breast. “Little one. I am glad you were with her.” His voice broke.
Thea cooed.
Ariston smiled. “I know my lady asked this of you already, but I would repeat her request. This boy, Spiridion, and his babe of a sister are yours now.”
Again, Thea cooed.
“When I return, we’ve a long journey to make. But I promise your days will be filled with fish and peace. For Rhodes is a peaceful place amidst a reckless world.” He stroked her again. “It pleases me to know you will see it.”
Thea cooed again, climbing closer to Ariston.
“Will you keep me company then? Until it’s time for me to go?” he asked.
He sat, reveling in her slight weight burrowed in the folds of his heavy exomie. It was only when little Kore’s cries broke the dark night that Thea stirred. She clicked, cooing, and fluffing her feathers.
Ariston smiled, stroking her head. “Go then, calm Kore with your sweet sounds. It eases my heart to know you’re with them.”
Thea’s gaze lingered on his for a moment longer.
He smiled at the owl.
Thea cooed once more, then flew toward the sound of the wailing babe.
He’d no more good-byes to make, no reason to dally any longer. In no time, he packed his meager belongings, penned a note to Xenia, and headed to the courtyard gate. As he opened the latch, the faint call of an owl brought a smile to his lips.
“Farewell, little one,” he whispered.
About Sasha Summers
Sasha is part gypsy, stories have always played an important role in her life. Her passions have always been storytelling, Hollywood, history, and travel. It’s no surprise that her books include a little of each. Her first play, ‘Greek Gods and Goddesses’ was written for her Girl Scout troupe. She’s been writing ever since. She loves getting lost in the worlds and characters she creates; even if she frequently forgets to run the dishwasher or wash socks when she’s doing so. Luckily, her four brilliant children and hero-inspiring hubby are super understanding and supportive.
You can find Sasha Summers, on Goodreads, Pinterest, Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, and the group blog: Plotting Princesses.
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