by James Welsh
“My King?”
Zeus heard the voice but didn’t see it. His eyes were still closed, and he felt like he could never open them again. The mystery happened days before, but the pain still lingered in the cracks of his brain. He wondered if that was what women felt like, after giving birth that is. And he felt ashamed – for once, he had something in common with a woman.
“My King? Are you awake?”
Zeus mumbled something – even he was not sure what it was.
“There is someone here to see you. She…well she was the one, from the other night.”
Hebe said this flatly, not quite sure how to introduce the guest. She had heard of Zeus giving birth through his ears, but she didn’t know how to put that night into words, at least not yet.
When Zeus heard what the servant Hebe said, though, he knew who was coming. His eyelids sprung open and he gripped the edges of the bed, whispering in a raspy voice, over and over, “No.”
“Yes, it’s me, father,” a different, more musical voice announced.
Zeus turned as best as he could in the bed, looking past Hebe, at the woman who had just spoke. Somehow, he had recognized her – the brown hair, the smiling lips, the drenched confidence, it all seemed so familiar. He had never seen her before, but he had felt her growing within him all of that time, and that was recognition enough – just as a mother knows her infant.
“You’ve come to…” Zeus began.
“I’ve come to see how you are, father. Do you feel better since the other night?” The stranger asked, concerned.
Confused, Zeus thought for a moment. Then, hesitatingly, he said, “What are you going to do to me?”
“What am I going to do to you?” The woman repeated, confused. She looked uncomfortable, and Zeus wondered if she was actually grappling with what she had to do. But, in all honesty, the woman was confused because, for once, she was actually confused. She was brilliant, and the ignorance felt strange, and she tried to shake off the feeling, but she couldn’t.
Zeus made an effort to sit up in bed – as he did, his eyes darted around the room, searching for a sword, for a bolt of lightning, anything lying around on the floor that was sharp. Zeus remembered the prophecy – he would always remember the prophecy – and so he knew this woman was coming to kill him, just as the Fates had told him. Zeus was expecting a son to depose him, but having a daughter made no difference. Already the confusion was melting away in her eyes, and Zeus could see the steel behind the bewilderment – she had a killer’s look – he knew before she did that this woman could fight if she wanted to.
“Calm down, father. You must still be in pain,” the woman said.
There was a table propped up next to the bed – there was a silvery bowl sitting on it, with a thick pool of water inside. The woman reached in and took out a sponge. She patted Zeus on the head with the wet sponge – of course the water turned to steam before it could touch Zeus’ forehead, but Zeus breathed in the steam, and it somehow began to calm him.
“Why must you torture me?”
“What?”
“This. Why not kill me now?” Zeus demanded. “What’s the point of being a nurse if you’re going to be a soldier in a few moments? Just kill me now, and spare the mercy.”
The woman took a step back, looking at Zeus like you would look at a madman. “I could never kill you, father. How could you say such a thing?”
“The Fates, they said so. They said that my child would rise up and kill me before taking my throne. The Fates have never been wrong – why would they start being wrong now?”
The daughter looked confused once more, and once more she looked uncomfortable not understanding. “I’ve only been in this world for a few days, but I already know I was never meant to be Queen – I’m only meant to be your daughter. And if you, my father, were to die, then what would that make me? If a father dies, could the daughter still call herself a daughter? I’m nothing without you.”
Still, even with those words, Zeus was not convinced. His throne had made him paranoid, and all he could think about was how easily she could slit his throat as he lay in bed. Zeus never heard of a god dying before, but he also knew there was always a first – there would always be a first for anything. For all of his suspicions though, Zeus found something trusting in this woman, not so much in her words, but in the way that she spoke them. And not so much the way she spoke those words with her tongue, but the way she spoke them with her eyes. Zeus had a talent for telling when someone was lying – liars have that talent of knowing – and when he looked into her eyes, he saw that she was telling the truth. And, for the first time in a long time, the tenseness in Zeus’ limbs gave out, like a pulled rope slackened, and he gave a short gasp, not quite a laugh, but not quite a sob. His strength coming back to him, Zeus reached up and embraced the woman.
“My daughter, my daughter!”
Zeus wept as he hugged her. Once he collected himself, he asked, “What is your name, my child?”
“I’m Athena.”
“Athena! What a wonderful name for an intelligent goddess. Come, let’s prepare your celebrations. Hebe? Hebe?”
Hebe appeared in the doorway. “Yes, my King?”
“Tell the servants in the kitchen to prepare a grand feast. We must celebrate my first child, my daughter, my Athena.”
