Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) (24 page)

Themistocles’ plan would succeed. It had to.

The Athenians had lured the Persian king Xerxes and his battered fleet to the mouth of the straits of Salamis. Tomorrow their enemy would venture in, to confront the reportedly divided Greek troops. There the Persians would move into the straits, forcing the warships and their battle into close quarters.

Xerxes had no idea that the Greeks’ disharmony was a farce, industriously circulated to entice the Persians into Themistocles’ carefully laid trap.

Once the Persians were in the straits, there was no escape.

And while the Persians had proved themselves skilled in battle, the constant battles and irregular supplies had diminished their numbers greatly. With three hundred triremes, the Greeks were still outnumbered by the Persians, but not at unbeatable odds.

Ariston and his troops were eager and ready.

News of the loss of Thermopylae had struck morale low.

But the stories of brave King Leonidas and his fearsome Spartiates as they staved off Xerxes had rallied all. With no more than fifteen hundred men, the unflappable Spartans had held their own against both the Medes’ attacks and the Persian Immortals. Indeed, to hear his men speak of the battle, Leonidas and his Spartiates had earned the respect and glory of all of Greece.

If Xerxes’ gold had not purchased a Spartan traitor to guide Xerxes into Leonidas’ camp, Ariston wondered if the warrior king and his troops might not have found a way to victory.

Alas, treachery had won out.

Treachery often does.

The men sat about their fire, sharing stories and wine.

“Morning will decide our fate,” Pamphilos was saying. “The Gods have made our commander immortal, or so it would seem. Surely that bodes well for the rest of us?”

The men laughed.

“The Gods honor us with such a leader,” Ophion, one of Ariston’s most ferocious soldiers, spoke loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Ariston serves them proudly. He cannot fall, Olympus forbids it.”

“Any man might lead as I do,” Ariston called back, “if they have the warriors I have.”

A cheer went up from the men, eliciting a smile from him.

“However, your flattery will not keep you from your time on the oars, Ophion,” Ariston added. The men laughed heartily, and Ophion shrugged.

He was proud of them, these valiant soldiers who’d fought for him.

When he had fallen at Athens, Chariton had proclaimed his death imminent. But Pamphilos and his crew would not desert him to the sea. His second had bound him, in his mats, to the deck and had Chariton ply him with tinctures, herbs and broths while they sailed to Salamis.

When he’d entered Hades’ realm, he did not know.

But returning to the living was more painful than leaving it. He woke, tied to the deck with festering wounds. When Chariton had come to the tent for supplies, he’d cried out at the sight of Ariston regarding him with clear eyes.

“You were dead,” Chariton had whispered.

“Was I?” His voice was hoarse.

Chariton had offered him the water skin. “Yes. I placed the coin under your tongue myself…”

Ariston felt it in his hand, and lifted it. “Here is your coin, Chariton. I will have no need of it…for now.”

Even when fever had taken hold of his wound, laying him low, his men hadn’t given up.

When he’d risen, the crew called him favored by the Gods. Wagers were placed on the outcome of their next battle, the number of fatalities and ships lost. With Ariston as their leader, they were assured a most glorious victory.

That he lived without care or thought as to the Gods’ will, he kept to himself. He would honor his pact with Hades. If Olympus were to fall into Tartarus, he cared not.

He would honor these men and lead them to victory here, for they’d helped him back from Hades. Tomorrow would see a bloody battle that needed all able bodies, and he would fight at their side. He owed them his fealty.

But when this battle was done, he would leave them.

In the months since he’d returned, his every action had been mindful of one goal – returning to her. As his wounds healed and his fever left him, he trained. He would fight anyone and everything that stood in his way.

Athens had been evacuated after the brave Spartans fell at Thermopylae, and all of Athens’ citizens had sailed to Aegina. It had been the only way to save Athens’ citizens from certain death. She would not have left Athens before the evacuation. He had to believe that she’d made the journey to safety. She would be on Aegina – he would join her soon.

The Persians had decimated Athens. News had reached them that even the Temple of Athena Polias had been burned and looted. The Goddess’ priests and priestess, and those who refused to leave Athens, had been slaughtered. This affront to the Gods had inspired outrage from Athens, her allies and the Gods alike.

It gave him hope. If the Gods were distracted by such offenses, Medusa might escape further persecution.

His hands clenched and the sand sifted through his fingers. While he’d been tied in his sickbed, his lady had sailed past him on the sea to safety. This hope ate at his heart and haunted his dreams.

Every moment of the day was marked with her absence.

Pamphilos leaned back, offering Ariston the water skin, smiling. “Drink?”

Ariston took the skin, swallowing the sweet wine to wash the bitterness from his mouth. He handed the skin back, nodding his thanks.

“Will your uncle’s plan work? Will we crush their fleet?” Pamphilos stared out over the darkening sea with yearning.

“He’s not led us astray yet. But I’ve no ability for divination, nor am I an oracle.” His eyes strayed to the Aegean with longing as well.

“Morning cannot come soon enough,” Pamphilos sighed.

Ariston nodded his agreement.

One of the men began strumming his lyre, his nimble fingers plucking the chords with ease. Ophion searched out his aulos, the melody of the long double reed pipe rousing the audience. The men’s voices rose, carrying the worries of the following morning away.

Pamphilos smiled and turned back to the men, his voice loud and strong as he joined them about the fire.

Ariston’s eyes wandered to the black velvet night sky. The stars, flashing brilliants in the dark, told him more than he wanted to know. Autumn storms would find them soon. This battle, this war, must end before then.

He made his way to the shoreline, searching out some peace and quiet. The water was calm, reflecting the glorious night upon its gently rolling surface. The beauty of the night stirred the vision of another, one he treasured dearly.

“Is the night sky over Rhodes very different?” The memory of her voice caused the hair on his neck to rise.

“No, my lady,” he’d replied. “But the company here is far superior to any I shared there.” He’d gazed at her in the moonlight. They’d loved and had lain under the moon on the sand of their beach, still tangled up in one another.

She’d turned to him, a bright smile on her face. “Oh?”

He’d rolled onto his side, propping himself on his elbow. “I believe your smile dims the stars.” He smoothed her hair from her forehead, relishing the feel of her. “Be careful, wife, for you might offend Selene if you shine too brightly.”

She shook her head, her eyes as deep as sapphires as they met his. “I shine only for you.”

His fingers tightened convulsively now, the lingering feel of her locks a whisper on his skin.

“You are the greatest gift I’ve been given,” he’d murmured against the column of her throat, his nose burying itself in her hair.

Her scent stirred his nostrils as if she was within his reach. He closed his eyes to savor it.

She’d said, “You are the only gift I’ve been given – to me, for me.”

“How can that be? You’re too loved to have been given nothing.” How naïve his answer had been.

“You are right. Thea is mine, too. And she loves me almost as dearly as you do, I think.” She touched his cheek as she continued. “But I’ve never been free to receive a gift that wasn’t given for the priestess. Or offered in trade for some duty or service I must fulfill.”

Her words were uttered without wistfulness or regret, as was her way. She spoke plainly, acknowledging her status.

“When did you leave your parents?” They’d much to discover about one another. But they hoped to have years of sharing before them.

“My father became indebted to Galenus during one of the Titans’ revolts. I know little in the way of particulars, but whatever Galenus did, I was payment. Xenia had many babes, though none lived long and she grieved so. I was given as a slave, but treated as a daughter. Xenia knows I cannot stay with them forever, yet she’s given me a tiny piece of her heart. Loving me too dearly would only lead to more heartache, and the poor lady has had too much in her time.”

“When did you come to serve Athena?” He traced the lines of her face in the moonlight.

“I was a small thing – barely in full robes.” She smiled. “My father was blamed for flooding one of Athena’s olive orchards. He swore it was Poseidon, but who would believe a Titan over a God? Even I have my doubts, and he is my father.”

“And so you became Athena’s arrephoroi to pay his offense? Were you frightened to serve the Goddess?”

“I was terrified when I entered the temple. I’d seen her statue, of course…but the sight of her armed in her helmet and bearing her shield made me forget what I was to do. I froze, staring up at her, without kneeling or bowing. She must have found me amusing because she smiled at me.”

“What did you do?” He could imagine it. Medusa’s wide blue eyes would have been even more enormous when she was a child – a lovely, guileless child.

“I smiled back.” Medusa shook her head. “And then I remembered myself and dropped to my knees. I’ve seen Athena many times over the years. And each time, she’s given me nothing but kind smiles and sweet words of praise.”

“Because you honor her so.” He quivered as her fingers traced his lower lip.

“I would honor Selene this night and ask the Lady Moon to linger. So that I may stay at your side for whatever time she will give to us.”

“My prayers join yours, wife,” he murmured against her lips.

His hands had trailed over her, leisurely caressing every silken slope and curve. His lips clung to hers, parting as her smooth arms wound about his neck.

A cold wind startled Ariston, pulling him firmly back to the present.

He flexed his hands, relaxing the tight fists. He must find his bed and sleep. He would have her in his arms then, he knew. She was with him every night.

He hoped for a happy dream or a pleasant memory. But his nightmares visited more frequently of late. At least, even in his blackest dream, she was with him.

###

Medusa pushed herself up, swaying as her head throbbed mercilessly.

“Sister?” Stheno’s voice was soft.

“What happened?” Medusa asked.

“Athens has been destroyed. All have fled, days ago, spirited across the sea to safety,” Euryale voice joined them.

Medusa stared into the darkness, blinking rapidly. Two shadows huddled together. “Where are we?” she asked.

“In a cave,” Stheno answered, “not far from Galenus’ house.”

Galenus. Her head swam.

A flash of her uncle appeared, his face lined with concern. He’d called to her, leading her to her chambers. And then…his face changed. There had been shock, then horror on his face. And his features faded.

Medusa shook her head, clasping her forehead to shake the strange images from her mind. “My head…”

“You fell, Medusa, on your way back from the temple,” Euryale explained.

“And injured your head,” Stheno added. “Do you remember what happened there – in the temple?” Images and words swirled about, but she could make sense of none of them. Only one image was clear.

Athena’s face as she’d cursed her, Athena’s rage.

The Goddess had cursed her.

“Athena…” Medusa gasped. “We quarreled.”

“You challenged Athena?” Euryale laughed. “At least now there is a reason.” She added the last harshly.

“I did not challenge her,” Medusa argued.

“You did something to displease her,” Euryale bit back. “Greatly.”

“Sleep, sisters. We’ve delayed our journey long enough. If Medusa is well, we must leave tomorrow,” Stheno interrupted.

The sound of her sisters’ voices was muffled, as if something covered her ears. Her hands searched the dark. Her head was wrapped, bound by layers of fabric and tied tightly. It ached unbearably, and her neck and shoulders felt bruised as well.

She lay still in the dark, weary beyond measure. But her mind refused to cooperate. Images, flashes of brief recollections – or dreams, of words and sounds, overwhelmed her. Some were disturbing and painful, glimpses into some sort of nightmare.

She opened her eyes, but she could see only the faintest hint of what was inside. Her sisters leaned together, one hump against the cave wall. They slept, the low rumble of one’s snores reaching her muted ears.

There was no fire or lantern.

Were they in danger then? Had those who attacked Athens posed enough threat to make even her fearless sisters hide?

She sat up slowly.

What was left of the city? Had Galenus and Xenia made it safely away?

And Elpis? Her heart twisted. Had her beloved companion made it from the city before it fell?

It took effort to stand, bracing herself against the wall of the cave. She would see for herself.

She followed along the cavern wall, shuffling, her hand pressed flat against its cool surface. Her head was too heavy, forcing her to lean against the wall and rest. It took so long to find the cave’s entrance she wondered that her sisters did not wake, refreshed and alert.

It was not night as she’d believed. The mouth of the cave, at the end of yet another long tunnel, glowed brilliantly with Apollo’s sun.

Why sleep now?

Perhaps the Persians lingered. It might make more sense to travel at night. Stheno was right. Even as hidden as they were, they would eventually be discovered. While Euryale and Stheno might be able to defend themselves against men, she knew she was not so well equipped.