The old man stood, nodding. “They are there. On the top of the farthest hill, keeping a herd of goats it seems.”
“It is rumored they have a fondness for goats.” Ariston smiled in spite of himself. Or goat herders, she’d laughingly said. He collected his things, hurriedly strapping the sack onto his saddle.
“Is it?” the old man asked. “Be careful, soldier. You seem a good sort. And whatever it is that plagues those creatures harbors only ill will towards man.”
Ariston heard the words as he mounted his horse. He was so close, so close after so very long. “I thank you for the food. And the company.” He kicked his horse on, impatient for the journey to be behind him.
By this evening, she might be in his arms once more.
He turned, to wave his thanks to the old man. But the man was gone. He was no longer reclining against the tree, enjoying the shade. Nor was he hobbling along the path. There was no sign of him.
###
“Hera,” Medusa whispered again. Her knees ached from kneeling on the cold rocks beneath her. “Hear my prayers, I implore you.”
The morning sun was rising, signaling the end of her day. The serpents hated the sun almost as much as she did. But she would continue to seek Hera’s guidance until she was forced to retreat inside the small cabin where her sisters and the children still slept.
She must find safety for Kore and Spiridion.
“These children need your protection…” she repeated her prayer over and over. “Guide the soldier to us so that he may keep them safe.”
Even if she’d lost favor with Olympus, the Goddess would not turn away from these children. Surely, she would protect them.
“I beg you for mercy, Hera – for the care of these precious children.”
“And what of the soldier, Medusa?” The voice started Medusa from her prayers.
A woman stood before her, with lush round curves and curly brown hair. She was small, dainty and feminine – and regal. There was an aura about her that Medusa recognized. This woman was not a mortal.
“If he comes to the aid of these children, you put him at risk.” The woman spoke again, her voice warm and soothing.
“I… I will hide,” she stammered.
“He might try to find you,” the woman returned. “He might try to kill you. News of the Gorgon curse travels, and men are fools in their need for conquests.”
“Would that he could kill me, lady,” Medusa whispered.
“You seek death?”
Medusa nodded slowly. “I am a danger to others.”
The woman said nothing.
Medusa was silent too. What should she say?
The whisper of the gently blowing breeze brushed her ear, fanning the sounds of evening about her. The faint hoot of an owl, the soft sounds of the surf far below, even the call of a gull reached her.
And still the woman watched her in silence.
At first, Medusa dismissed the owl’s calls. It was only as they grew louder and more insistent that she turned towards the approaching bird. A coo, sweet and pleading, reached her.
And Medusa saw her.
“Thea?” her anguish was audible.
The owl circled her, obviously distressed by her mistress’ companions. Medusa shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself so Thea would find no place to grasp her. She curled inward, desperate.
“Are you a messenger from Olympus – from Athena?” she gasped, unable to stop the waiver from her plea. “Keep her from me, I beg of you. Let no harm come to her.”
“I am not Athena, Medusa. I am Hera. Did you not call for me?” The woman’s voice was sad.
“Forgive me, Goddess. Thea…” Medusa’s words trailed off. How happy she was to see her beloved Thea. And how desperately she wished her pet had not found her.
“Your pet did not come with me,” Hera said.
Thea landed on the ground, staring at Medusa with her huge yellow eyes as she cooed plaintively.
“Dear Thea.” Medusa smiled at her. “Stay where you are, little one. They would not take kindly to your affection.”
Indeed the snakes were stretching towards the owl with uninhibited aggression. Medusa pushed them back, ignoring the burning stab of their fangs as she did so.
“They bite you?” the Goddess asked with unrepressed horror.
“It’s a small thing – no more than a passing irritation. I am at their mercy too. Though the suffering they cause their victims is far more…cruel.” She paused. “If there were a way, if I had some warning to prevent their whims, I would control them.”
“But you cannot.” Hera regarded her with huge brown eyes. “So how will you protect this soldier?”
She drew a deep breath, knowing she had only one choice to guarantee this man’s safety. “I will leave. My sisters will give the children into his safe keeping.”
Hera moved forward, standing over Medusa. “If I agree, what do you offer me?”
“What would you have me do?”
Hera cocked her head. “You would you serve me? No matter what I ask of you?”
“I would,” she answered.
“Set thoughts of death aside. Your death, that is. I would have your companions punish those in need of punishment.”
Medusa shivered. “Who?”
“You will start here. There is a camp of Persians in the cove below. They wait for a ship that will not come.” Hera watched her closely. “These are the same men who left this path of death you’ve traveled with your sisters. The men who made these children you care for, and many more like them, into orphans. These men will set upon the warrior coming this way, and most assuredly kill him. Unless you unleash the power Athena has cursed you with.”
Medusa nodded once. Her curse had a purpose – justice. These men deserved death. “I will visit them this eve.”
The Goddess smiled. “Then you shall make your way to the caves on Crete. There you shall stay to deal with those sent to you. I give you my word both children will live long and healthy lives.”
“I thank you Hera, for your mercy. They are sweet and gentle children, deserving of love and protection.”
Hera continued, “Yes, yes. I have news that might lighten your heart.”
She asked, “Is there such news?”
“Your owl is not alone. She travels with the soldier, a hero of Salamis on a most desperate quest. He is looking for his wife.”
“A sad quest for a favored soldier.” Her words were soft. If Ariston had lived… No. Hera’s words could do nothing but bring her more sorrow. She did not want to hear of this man or his quest, she could not. Too much pain lived in her heart already.
“You would be surprised, I think, to know the rest of this man’s story.” Hera walked closer, watching the owl as it circled its mistress again and again. “He was injured on the seas, at Athens, struck dead by an infidel’s blade. But he would not rest, he bargained with Hades to come back.”
Medusa stared at Hera. “Why would he do such a thing? Surely rest in Elysium and glory on the battlefield are all any man desires?”
Hera nodded, “I agree, your words are wise. This soldier, however, does not agree. He left matters unfinished, matters he valued more than glory or rest, so it seems. His wife was seriously injured at Athens, her household cursed, and destroyed. He believed her in more danger still – and would protect her once more, if he could find her. But she was carted away by her sisters, before he could send any word to her of his return… Now he searches for his wife, knowing she believes him dead. For more than two moons now he has traveled across the countryside so that he might bring her home with him to Rhodes.”
Hera’s words filled her ears.
Her chest began to spasm unbearably.
Her heart, so broken she knew it would never beat properly, throbbed to life with sudden force.
“He will not give up, Medusa. I have never seen a man more determined than yours.”
Whatever pain she felt fled at the realization that
he lived. Some faint recollection of joy found her. “He… He is well?” Her voice broke.
“He is.”
Medusa nodded, covering her mouth to catch the laughter that escaped. He lived, and loved her still. Even though he must know of her betrayal… Did he know of her curse, as well?
Nothing else mattered. “My… my heart is full.” She looked up at the Goddess, smiling through her tears.
Sadness shadowed Hera’s eyes. “I thought as much. But what will you do?”
She had little time to come to terms with Hera’s revelation. Later she might linger over this news, but not now. “He must be kept safe… I have given you my word and I will honor our bargain. Nothing changes. But knowing…knowing he lives makes all bearable.”
“Does it?”
Thea cooed at her, stepping forward, then dodging back as the serpents moved to reach her. Medusa grabbed one, forcing it behind her and wincing at the bite it gave her in response.
“Almost…” She nodded. “Yes.”
Chapter Fourteen
It was past midday when Ariston reached the cabin.
His horse was covered in a layer of sweat, exhausted from the climb. He slumped in the saddle, his body aching from the relentless jarring. As they entered the clearing, his mood lightened.
A herd of goats scattered before him, bleating as they went. His eyes surveyed the scene with care.
The small rock cottage looked deserted, and no smoke rose from the dilapidated chimney. There were no horses, or carts, no guards or dogs to alert those inside the cabin they had been found. It was peculiar, this lack of regard for discovery.
A sudden movement caught his eye, and he turned to find a young boy.
The boy froze. The bucket the boy carried sloshed, spattering his thin chest with what appeared to be goat milk. Large brown eyes stared back at him.
Ariston stopped, regarding the boy in surprise.
“Are you the soldier?” the boy asked.
“I am a soldier,” he answered. “Are you expecting one?”
“I think it’s you, sir.” The boy grasped the bucket with two hands, and moved towards him. He shrugged, smiling up at him. “Maybe.”
Ariston smiled back.
“They’re in the cabin. Kore is hungry, that’s why I was milking.”
Ariston looked at the boy, understanding nothing the child said. “Who is in the cabin?”
“Stheno and Euryale.” The boy tilted his head towards the cabin. “It’s too hot to bring the baby outside.”
Ariston followed, confused yet exhilarated. “Is it only Stheno and Euryale?”
The boy’s eyes grew round and he opened his mouth. But he seemed to change his mind and nodded vigorously in answer. The child was nervous about something.
“Boy…” Ariston began.
The shrill sound of a baby reached them.
The boy laughed. “I told you she was hungry.”
“She is, Spiridion, so run. The soldier can find his way inside, surely?” a woman’s rough voice called from the recesses of the cabin.
“Don’t stare,” the boy whispered before he ran ahead, into the cabin.
Tread carefully. He would find the truth.
“For a soldier, you lack both speed and stealth,” the voice goaded.
“I wasn’t aware I needed speed or stealth, lady,” he answered. “Should I retreat and start again?”
Laughter, hoarse and grating, “You do have an excellent sense of humor.”
His first impression was one of height. The woman, a Gorgon to be sure, stood in the doorway staring down at him. She shifted, exposing her features to him. And he understood why the boy had warned him about staring.
“You are Ariston?” she asked.
“You know me?”
“Of course,” another said, stepping forward. This one wasn’t smiling. “Our sister dreamed of little else and we were forced to sleep under one roof… In the time we had with her.”
“Where is she?” he asked.
The unsmiling Gorgon answered quickly, “She is no longer with us…”
“She joined Hades this very morn,” the other added.
Ariston surged forward, staring about the dimly lit cabin.
They were wrong, they had to be. She could not be dead. If she were dead he could no longer look for her – hope for her.
He fought the urge to run. But six prying eyes watched him with various expressions, and he would find what answers he could.
“She suffers no more. That is more than she’d dare hope for.” The Gorgon continued, “I will take you to her grave after we eat.”
“Come in and sit,” the other suggested. “Let us cool our tempers and our tongues before we exchange tales, shall we? Leave him be, Euryale. Spiridion, fetch him some water.”
The boy did as he was told, handing the water skin to him with tear-filled eyes. “Here you are,” the boy whispered.
Ariston stared at the boy, at the pain on his young face. He said nothing as he took the water skin from him.
###
Medusa crept onto the beach, keeping to the shadows that leapt and danced about the crackling fire.
Her heart, thumping wildly, rebelled against what she was about to do. She knew these men were monsters, she had seen the torturous handwork of their retreating swords and spears. She and her sisters had buried their victims, praying that their souls might still find entry to Hades’ realm – and peace.
If she could but think on those faces, those beaten and murdered by these men, then she might find some satisfaction in this task.
The men talked amongst themselves, laughing and jesting as comrades often do. To look upon them, as she did now, she would never have suspected them of such treachery. They were men, no different in appearance than those who visited the temple in Athens or Galenus’ house.
Was it possible that the men she knew, men she loved, could be capable of such heinous acts?
Images of Ektor’s young face, Galenus’ fiery temperament, and Ariston rose unbidden. Could their hands have struck down women and children under the guise of war? Violated them with such ruthless abandon?
The serpents writhed, pulling upon her head wrap with deliberate intent. They could hear the men. She knew it by their rhythmic motions – and their absolute silence.
The Persians’ words rose and fell. She understood none of them, though they seemed at ease and jovial.
Little did they know that death had found them.
She pulled the wrap from her head, freeing the creatures with one sure movement. It slipped from her hands, falling to the sand with no sound. Her feet crept forward as the red haze descended over her eyes. The serpents had taken over and led her nimbly, eagerly, towards their prey.
As she made her way into the light of their campfires, the men began to react. One stood suddenly, his face a mask of horror. But he turned, crackling to a brittle shell before the other men had time to react.
A shout went up, and one man threw a spear. It sailed past her, cleaving a serpent from her head and igniting a fire in her temple. The man was caught that way, his hand aloft as he’d released his missile.
There were more than she’d thought, too many to count. The snakes turned a handful quickly, turning five more before the pain in her head, her wound, forced her to withdraw into the shadows.
She fell, praying the soldiers would follow her and end this chore for her. As she lay on her back, the serpents moved about her head and neck. Blood, hot and thick, flowed down her temple, marking the loss of her companion.
She felt no sorrow at the loss, only pain and frustration that she had not completed her task. She must, in order to gain Hera’s protection for the children.
She sat up, watching the men as they gaped at their stone comrades. Some were fearful, speaking in hushed tones. One began to chant, falling to his knees. She rested on one elbow, willing the pain to recede and her strength return.
Even her companions were distracted from
their prey. They seemed to recoil, twining into themselves – grieving over the loss of one of their own.
She waited until the throb in her head was bearable before venturing back onto the beach. She’d made Hera a bargain and she would see it through. She had not finished with these men, not yet.
When the beach was quiet, she walked amongst them. Contorted faces, defensive arms, wide eyes and pleading mouths fell still and silent. She touched one, flinching against the smooth hardness of the statue. How cold they were, how empty…
She had done this.
There was no time to grieve for them or for her. Hera had sent a boat. It would carry her to Crete – far from Athens and Ariston.
Peace was hers now. She would gladly go, gladly serve, knowing the children were safe – with Ariston.
###
“Is Polydectes such a tyrant?” Ares scoffed.
Poseidon knew the name, but cared little. Then he heard Aphrodite mutter, “It has nothing to do with Polydectes. This is about Perseus.”
Perseus? The boy was another of Zeus’ bastards.
Poseidon glanced at his brother. Why would Zeus risk angering Hera, his wife, by speaking of his bastard at council? There had been peace between them for some time now. Long enough for his brother to forget the wrath of his jealous wife? Surely not.
“We are speaking of Polydectes, sweet Aphrodite,” he answered.
She turned to him, a knowing smile on her perfect face as she whispered, “Are we? We shall see.”
Zeus was speaking loudly. “… shown troubling leadership. He is demanding every man in Seriphos give him a tribute, a horse.”
Poseidon laughed. “Every man? He demands a steep tribute, this king. What warrants such an extravagance?”
“Yes, husband, what is his purpose?” Hera’s eyes narrowed.
“Polydectes? Have we not discussed him before?” Demeter asked. “Is he not the same king who denied me tribute at Harvest?”
“He is,” Zeus nodded, relaxing ever so slightly – or so it seemed to Poseidon.
Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) Page 25
