Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) (32 page)

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.

“The same king who misused sweet Chara. A beast of a man,” Aphrodite said.

Poseidon watched his brother closely, curious.

“He has long since forgotten his offerings to us,” Apollo said. “He has claimed that Seriphos suffers poor harvests and famine.”

“He would have better harvests if he remembered to honor the Harvest,” Demeter affirmed.

“He claims Seriphos is unable to offer tribute?” Athena stared at Zeus in surprise. “But demands his people offer him horses?”

“Why have we done nothing to punish this man, then?” Ares asked.

“Why indeed?” Hera agreed.

Poseidon enjoyed watching his brother at work. Truly, Zeus was a master at such games. Whatever his intent this time, his brother was taking pains to ensure Olympus would rally behind him.

“There was no one fit to take his place, wife,” Zeus’ words were layered, spoken with care.

Hera’s lips pursed, but she said nothing.

“What does he want? Why is Polydectes calling for such tributes?” Hermes asked, his young face inquisitive as he searched the faces of his fellow Gods.

“He’s offered marriage to Hippodameia,” Zeus continued.

“He would use the vows of marriage to gain his fortune?” Hera asked.

“Is that not why mortals marry?” Ares argued.

“It is,” Hermes agreed.

“But not at the cost of their kingdom,” Athena said. “Seriphos’ people cannot manage such tributes without leading to their ruination. He is a fool.”

Poseidon had heard his brother’s answer and knew there was more to it. “You said there was no one to take his place, to rule Seriphos. There is now?” Poseidon asked.

“Mayhap Apollo has found one,” Zeus suggested softly.

Poseidon’s gaze narrowed, noting Zeus’s posture.
He can scarce contain his excitement.

Apollo nodded. “While the king has been quick to silence those who would question his demands, one has dared to speak out against Polydectes. He has great courage, a certain charm that the people admire. His name is Perseus.”

Aphrodite turned to Poseidon, a brilliant smile upon her triumphant face. He covered his mouth, catching his laughter quickly.

“Perseus?” Hera asked without rancor.

So Hera did not know who this Perseus was. She would have been quick to react if she had. It was apparent that Zeus had no intention of telling her Perseus was his son. Not just yet, anyway.

Poseidon bit back a grin, catching Aphrodite’s gaze once more. She, too, was waiting expectantly.

“Perseus told Polydectes it would be smarter to expect Medusa’s head than a horse as he was better able to take her head than find a horse. He is without property, adopted son of Dyktes, a simple fisherman.” Apollo finished, clearly amused.

Poseidon shook his head. The boy must be Zeus’ son, to have such rash overconfidence.

“What was Polydectes response to Perseus impudence?” Ares asked, greatly amused.

“Polydectes accepted his offer.” Zeus said.

Silence fell upon the Council Chamber.

Poseidon froze. No…this was not what had been decided.

Would Hera intercede again? Mayhap Aphrodite would champion Medusa’s plight, as she was greatly fascinated with the husband, Ariston. That she’d turned herself into an old man to gauge the man’s devotion boggled Poseidon. What had it accomplished? Nothing save more dissatisfaction with the cretin she was sadly wed to. He supposed he might seek out other husbands if saddled with one as dreadful and morose as hers.

As the silence held, his stomach clenched.

“What of the promise you gave Medusa?” Poseidon asked Hera.

Would no one honor their word to this woman? His eyes traveled about the chamber and knew none would defend Medusa. Why did it trouble him?

“The children will be kept safe,” Hera answered. “Medusa has made peace with her life. She has some happiness knowing her man lives.”

“Tis past time for Polydectes to meet Hades’ judges,” Apollo said.