“Ouch! Bastard free me!” the fish screamed.
“Not on my life!” the hunter growled in reply completely unperturbed by her transformations. “I will never let go.”
The nymph raged at his determination. She tried one last form…the most feared and hated form she could conjure. Medusa! She pushed the tendrils of snakes from her head, her eyes menacing yellow flame, her body half serpent. The hunter shifted his weight back as the snakes hissed and flicked their tongues at his face. He threw his head back and laughed, but never released his strangling grip around her waist.
His reaction stunned her. “You will never have me!” Thetis screeched. “Never!”
“Is that the best you can do, nymph? I fear no form you take. No matter the fangs or scales, it is you beneath the surface.”
“Did Zeus send you?” the Medusa asked. “I know some god has helped you. Pray it is not Zeus.”
He shook his head firmly. “Chiron. Chiron sent me here.”
The snakes wilted their protest. Thetis recognized her defeat. The hunter’s eyes spoke volumes of truth. He’d never let go. Not until she acquiesced to his demands.
“What do you want of me?” Thetis inquired with hesitation. “A passionate exchange?”
“Your hand in marriage,” he said without releasing his grip.
“Marry you? Why would I marry one so low?” Thetis shuddered at the idea of being bound to this mortal. Her heart still burned for Zeus.
“Low?” his laughter echoed to the sky. “You think me low?”
Thetis slid into her natural form. “All mortals rank lower than we immortal few.”
He laughed again. “Do you give in then?” His grip tugged harder. “Yes or no?”
She flailed at his arms and tried to scratch at his head. “You-are-hurting-me!”
“Give up nymph. I have snared you fairly.”
Thetis ceased her struggle momentarily. “Never.”
“Then my kingdom will miss me.”
“Kingdom?”
“Yes, my kingdom. And they will send men to find me.”
“Find you?”
“And they will find you, here, locked in my arms.”
“And then what?”
“They will likely capture you and put you in a cage.”
The nymph’s eyes rounded in panic. “A cage?”
“I will keep you displayed in the palace as my treasured pet.”
“You would cage me? Mock me with such disrespect?”
“I would prefer a sweeter exchange. Become my queen.”
“That is but another kind of cage?” Thetis said. “Shall we bargain?”
“Speak and I will make it so,” Peleus promised.
“I will be your queen, if I may roam freely,” she gestured around the meadow. “Here in my home or peacefully at sea.”
“As long as you return every evening to our bed. Sleep beside me.”
Thetis nodded agreement. The hunter released his grip. She hadn’t realized his sheer size until he released her and her feet hit the ground.
“It is done then. You shall be my wife. My queen,” he stated as he turned to walk away.
“Wait! Where are you going? What are you called?” His lack of manners confused her.
The hunter spun on his heel, strode back to face her, tilted her chin up to his and kissed her until her mouth ached with the pressure of his lips. “Peleus. I am called Peleus.” He released her chin and walked away leaving a trail of smashed grass behind him.
Thetis touched her swollen lips with her fingertips. She had no idea a mortal man could rouse such passion with a mere kiss. “Peleus,” she said. Not even Zeus had kissed her so roughly and with such passion. Perhaps, she thought, marriage to a mortal such as this king wouldn’t be as awful as she’d feared.
THE OLYMPIANS ATTENDED the royal wedding at the command of Zeus. They cloaked their immortal glory in human mantles to mingle among the mortal wedding guests from Thessaly and the nobles of Peleus’ court without causing harm. Such an exalted gathering had never before attended the wedding of a mortal; the exception was made on behalf of Thetis, an immortal, even if she was no more than a lower sort, a simple water nymph.
Green garlands and field flowers decked the halls of the palace. A fountain of river rocks surrounded by a ring of water drew center attention. The bottom filled with gold and silver coins tossed as wedding bliss wishes by the guests. Bronze oil lamps blazed in every corner of the hall bathing the room in twinkling light. At the head table Peleus beamed in triumph. His newly made queen would soon be made wife. The very notion that her lips were his alone to ravish with rough and tender kisses ignited a passion he had never known before. Misfortune followed all his previous marriages. Someone always wound up dead. Eurythion. Antigone. Polydora. He’d been in no hurry to find another bride, saddling him with more misery. But, his advisors urged him to remarry, saying he needed an heir. He found that at every turn, his advisors pushed women at him, their daughters or their granddaughters, and on one uncomfortable occasion, an acquaintance’s mother. Until now, he’d abstained from the pleasures of female company and turned instead to the business of war, wealth and power.
The nymph was different. She craved no crown, no gold or riches. She craved only for her freedom. This intrigued him more than her immortality. Her beauty was unparalleled. No mortal woman he’d ever seen could compare. Her skin shimmered with a pale silver light, her eyes sparkled as green as a clear pond, and her lips were round and red promising as much pleasure as pain. Her hair, the color of a raven’s wings, curled down to her feet. Peleus noticed that most of the mortals present could barely keep their eyes from lingering on her. His chest swelled with jealous pride.
“Chiron!” Peleus shook the centaur’s hand. “Where is...?” Peleus looked behind the centaur, turning him with difficulty. “...the rest of you?”
“Cloaked for the event,” he snorted. “I would not miss this for all the gold you could lay at my feet.”
“Gratitude, my friend, for your advice. I would never have caught her without your wise and winning words.”
Chiron considered Peleus for a moment. “When all is done, you may not thank me.”
“I sense caution in your words,” Peleus said hesitantly. “There is no trouble as before is there?”
“If you mean from the centaurs? No, they have quite forgiven you for that transgression. But, there is concern.”
Peleus wanted only the truth. “Then, speak it plainly.”
“Do you see that man over there?”
Peleus looked in the direction the centaur indicated across the room. He saw a tall man with hair so blonde it glinted silver. “I do not know that man.”
“No you do not know him, but it many ways his charity allowed this marriage to take place.”
“Charity? What does a stranger have to do with my wedding? He paid neither for the wine, the feast—”
“He gave up his claim on the nymph you imbecile,” the centaur snorted twice.
“His claim on Thetis?”
“Of course. She wanted him more than his brother. Naturally, any female would prefer him over Poseidon.”
“You speak in riddles, Chiron.”
“I speak plainly. It is your ears that are clogged.”
“You said his brother was Poseidon.”
“I did.”
“Then, that would make the man before us…Zeus. That is preposterous.”
“Yes, it would be, would it not? And I am no centaur.” Chiron watched the truth worm its way into Peleus’ mind. “Look around you, my friend. Look at all the people whose beauty beckons the eye, whose stature is head and shoulders above your own and tell me their names.”
Peleus glanced around the room. A trio of women, in one corner, stood close together laughing and drinking wine from crystal goblets. The torchlight reflected strands of gold and silver in their hair. They stood a head taller than the tallest man. A lone man played a lyre. His music floated across t
he room, each note sounding perfection. Peleus realized that over a dozen beautiful creatures he didn’t recognize as nobles or dignitaries from neighboring cities mingled among his guests.
“Well, name them, I said,” Chiron repeated.
“I cannot,” Peleus answered.
“Exactly,” Chiron grinned, curling his lip up on one side, and winked mischievously.
Peleus’ wrinkled his brow with concern. “Immortals attend my wedding?”
The centaur rolled his eyes. “Finally, his eyes are open.”
“And Zeus wanted to marry Thetis? What about Hera?”
He grabbed Peleus’ arm and steered him into a more private alcove. “Shah! You idiot mortal. Hera is just across the room,” Chiron hushed the king. “Zeus never intended on marrying the nymph. Just bedding her.”
Jealousy rose in Peleus’ chest gripping it tightly. How would he compare to a god? “He did not, did he?”
“Of course not. No immortal would after the prophesy of Themis was revealed.”
“What prophesy?”
“About the child.”
“Whose child?”
“That would be your child, I suppose,” Chiron smiled broadly, laughter threatening to burst through.
“Thetis will give me a child? A son?” Peleus inquired.
“It is never good knowing too much about one’s own future,” the centaur replied.
A thunderous roar filled the hall as the southern doors flew open. Mist spilled across the floor, curling around the approaching figure rendering it a smudge of black amidst the grey. Slowly, the mist cleared revealing a goddess in full Olympic glory. Her golden gown encrusted with silver crystals and polished gems shimmered in the flickering yellow light of the hall. Her golden hair shamed the flames. Her irises shone black as night, piercing all who looked upon her with her hatred and anger.
From across the hall, Peleus heard Thetis scream.
Chiron shook his head in surprise and consternation. “Eris.”
“Goddess of Strife,” Peleus said. “She’s stunning.”
The centaur pawed the ground with a foot. “And deadly. Make no mistake.”
The man with the silver hair spoke, “What do you seek, Eris?”
Peleus whispered in awe, “Zeus.”
Eris flashed a divine smile. “I had hoped it a simple oversight that I was not invited, but I can see by your stunned faces that I am mistaken.” Not a soul spoke up or dared even draw a breath.
The silver-haired man cocked an eyebrow. “You are not welcomed, and you know full well why.”
Eris sneered. “I will take my leave, but not before I give the bride and groom my wedding gift.” She tossed a golden orb into the assembly of wedding guests. It landed on a table clanging loudly as it tumbled over precious glassware and silver eating utensils. Blood red wine splashed across the plates of food, across gowns and tunics, and dripped onto the marble floor before it rolled and wobbled to a stop.
“You scorn me, as you would scorn the Fates that reveal a future you wish to change. You cannot change the course decreed by them any more than you can change your own appetites for power and flesh.” Eris gestured at the golden orb. “You are not immune to strife or grief or sorrows because you breathe the air of Olympus. You are at the same mercy as humans, when the Fates have cast their die.” Eris looked into the stricken faces of each Olympian, sensing the foreboding in their eyes. “By my hand your fates are cast.” She turned ever gracefully, gown flowing behind her like a cloud, and retreated from the hall.
Aphrodite plucked the heavy orb from its resting place on the table. She balanced it in her palm. “It is an apple of the Hesperides. A fine gift. Pure gold. An unexpected treasure.”
Athena grabbed the fruit from the Goddess of Love to inspect for herself. “There is writing on the side.”
Hera scowled. “How did that bitch get passed the daughters of Atlas? I curse Herakles for destroying my dragon.” Even after all this time, Hera resented the theft of her orchard by the mighty hero and his ridiculous labors for Eurystheus.
All the wedding guests stood or sat in frozen slumber. Chiron elbowed a dozing Peleus. “This should be interesting. Wake up you idiot! Look at all the immortals among us!”
“What is the meaning of this—” Peleus asked groggily.
“Immortals tend to have this effect on mortals when the godly ones choose not to be seen,” Chiron whispered urgently. “Shake it off, Peleus!”
“Read the message, Athena,” Hera commanded.
Athena nodded obedience to her mother. “It says: kallisti, to the fairest.”
Aphrodite grabbed the golden apple from her sister. “Clearly, this was meant for me.”
Zeus spoke up, sensing that the trouble Eris intended had begun. “Give that to me. It is a wedding gift for Thetis.”
“And I suppose you believe her ‘the fairest’ in the room?” Hera quizzed her husband.
“No,” he answered flatly.
“The apple is for ‘the fairest’ that is clear. But who shall be named the fairest among such divine company? Husband, you must decide and put an end to this before it becomes,” Hera glanced from Athena to Aphrodite, then back to her husband, “a problem for Olympia.”
Zeus seethed under his cold silver exterior. Trapped by that bitch’s words. “How can I judge fairly when it is my very own wife and daughters? I will please one, yet anger the other two. And how can I choose and have my decision be accepted as final? No one will believe I chose without bias.”
“True,” Hera said. “Well-spoken. Diplomatic.” She huffed in disappointment. “Expected.”
“Some other must judge,” Aphrodite said.
“Name another god, then,” Athena suggested.
“It must be a mortal,” Zeus replied to them all.
The Goddess of Love bristled. “How can a mortal be a better judge?”
The Thunder King answered, “Only a mortal can choose without bias. Only a mortal can bear the wrath of the losers on his head. I must keep all such strife far from Olympus.” All the gods knew the tumultuous era of divine war could not be repeated. They owed their very existence to Zeus and his bravery and cunning.
“Who then?” Athena understood her father’s wisdom in the matter. She wouldn’t want to live with Hera or Aphrodite either, if Zeus chose her. And should a heavenly war break anew because of their vanities, it wouldn’t bode well for any of them.
Ares, God of War, spoke up. “Not long passed, I encountered a boy in a bull ring. I found him to be...most fair.” He smirked at his word play. “He lives on the outskirts of Troy. He is untainted by the politics of palace or temple. His blood is of royal lineage. The injury to your pride is lessened, is it not, being judged by the secret son of King Priam?”
“His name?” Athena questioned.
“Paris. His name is Paris. You’ll find him tending cattle along the slopes the sacred mountain,” Ares said.
Chiron and Peleus watched as the wedding guests came back to life once the bargain was struck to satisfaction, none of them aware of the mystical slumber from which they’d just awoken. Soon music and laughter echoed in the hall.
“And so it goes,” Chiron said, his voice hinting at the darkness to come.
A BELLOW PULLED PARIS from his bedding and away from Oenone’s warm body. Stars sparkled above them. The moon, full and heavy, hung low almost touching the ridgeline across the gorge.
“What is it my mortal?” Oenone asked without even lifting her head from the downy pillow.
“A bull. It’s unusual to hear them this time of night.” His eyes scanned the deep purple of the sky. “This time of morning.”
“Are you going to the field?” Oenone blinked sleep from her liquid eyes.
Paris ran a hand along the line of her body, his hand lingering over each curve and came to rest on her belly, just above her sacred cross. His appetite for her grew daily. He reluctantly pulled his hand from her. “Yes,” Paris answered.
“
Is something wrong?” she asked.
“You need not worry. Sleep. I’ll return shortly.” He leaned his head to hers, grazing her lips with his own and whispered, “You are like wine to me.” Then he kissed her deeply. “I drink my fill, and am impatient for more.”
Oenone blushed. “I will be your wine. Night and day, my mortal.” She reached her lips up to peck his with a light kiss. “Go. Be gone about your business so you may return thirsty for my...wine.”
Paris grabbed her chin in his hands, looking hard in her eyes. “I will always return.” He released her face and left their bed to dress. Oenone observed through the soft light breaking through the dark at the perfection of Paris’ form. His wide shoulders, thickly muscled, slimmed to his waist. His mortality did not diminish his beauty in her eyes.
The crisp chill of night still clung to the air, so Paris pulled his woolen cloak tighter over his chiton. As he tied his sandals on, he heard the disturbing sound several more times. He tucked his sword into his wide leather belt and a dagger into a leather cuff. On his way from the camp, he grabbed his bow just to be safe. Cattle thieves were a ruthless horde. He decided against a torch, too risky, too visible for stealth.
As he approached the place where the bellowing originated, he slowed his pace. Firelight glowed and lit the hazy dark from beyond a row of tangled bushes. Unexpected. He placed his footsteps carefully to avoid snapping a stick or slipping on the uneven ground. He crouched lower than the surrounding brush trying to get as close as possible.
“We won’t bite you, Paris,” a feminine voice floated across the night addressing him.
Paris froze when he heard his name spoken so confidently. What trickery is this?!
“Do you think he heard you?” asked Athena, draped in golden gauze.
“Certain,” said Hera the silver-haired.
“Why does he just crouch there?” asked Aphrodite.
“Like a scared child,” the golden woman remarked.
“He’s little more than that, truly spoken, Athena,” Hera agreed.
Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) Page 13
