Dangerous Secrets (109 page)

Turning away, I dropped the torch. It fell my
feet, extinguishing itself. But an amber light, flickering gently like evening
sunset through leaves, still filled the sanctuary. The water poured over the
lip of the basin, trickling merrily to join a marble-lined channel that dropped
away, level by level, down a flowing landscape to join a large lake, blue and
silver in the sun. A pavilion wrought of white wood tracery, marvelously carved
in the semblance of birch trees, rested by the water’s edge.

The ruined sanctuary had vanished, as had
Telemenos itself. The light had a golden quality which brought the even the
farthest details into crisp clarity. Harps played softly, as if music came from
the dancing white and pink petals that drifted from the trees. Delicious
fragrances chased themselves like butterflies through the air: apple, fig,
orange blossom, lilies. Colors seemed to have an extra dimension here, deeper
and richer than any I’d seen since I was a tiny child first learning their
names.

I heard laughter and followed it without
hesitation or second thought.

My clothes, stiffened by salt and dirty from
climbing the tower, had become white as a cloud, of some fabric wondrously soft
and fine. My cuts and bruises were healed, even the calluses on both ends of my
fist from where I gripped my sword. I put up a hand to scratch my head in
wonder and found that my hair had grown back, thick and curly as a lamb’s wool.
Hastily, I touched my chin. No beard, thank heaven.

Laughter sounded again, nearer, the laughter of
happy children. I walked through a drift of small white lilies and saw that if
I crushed one to the earth with my sandal, it bounced back immediately, shaking
itself all over to straighten petals and smooth out leaves. Glorious
butterflies, gold, green, and a shimmering blue, danced over the blossoms,
stopping to sip where they wished.

Approaching the lake, I watched as fish,
strange to me, leapt from the still water, falling back with a ringing as of
silver bells. Birds sang in close harmony from the branches of the trees, long
swaying branches that dipped into the water as if strumming it. Harps again,
but with deeper tones, blending their notes with that of the air.

“Yo, buddy! Over here.”

I heard the thick, rough voice but it seemed to
have no meaning here. All was beauty, peace, grace. A voice like that seemed to
come from a crueler, more brutal world. So did the small hands that grabbed my
hair and pulled, short and hard enough to bring tears from my eyes. I raised a
hand to brush the pain away.

“Hey, watch it, ya dumb cluck.”

Roused to anger, I looked around and came nose
to nose with a short, fat boy. Nose to nose because he was flying or at least
hovering right in front of my face.

Little white wings grew from his shoulder
blades. They flickered steadily, keeping him off the ground. He had a nimbus of
fine white hair on his round head, a pouting lip and eyes older than the
Sphinx.

“Snap out of it, boy,” he said. “You’re wanted
inside. Ain’t you never heard not to keep a lady waiting?”

“What lady?”

“’What lady’, he asks. Where do you think you
are, dummy? Come on, come on, step it up. We ain′t got all day. Hey, Ducomeos,
how’s the fruit hanging, man?” he asked as another small, fat boy flew past.
That one nodded and smiled at me toothlessly, then made a pumping gesture with
a lot of elbow. They both giggled.

As I and my guide approached the pavilion, more
of the little bastards started coming around. They were staring at me, pointing
and laughing, falling backwards as if to roll on the floor in laughter only
never falling. I began to wish I’d brought bow-and-arrow into this waking
dream. A few near-misses would have scattered them quick enough.

The intertwining tracery of carved wood was
only the outer shell of the pavilion. The walls were made of a pinkish, golden
glass, more glass than had been made in Greece for a hundred years. And not the
most master craftsman had ever created pieces so fine and smooth, not to
mention large. Each piece fitted together perfectly, to form a cylinder. But it
was not translucent. I could see nothing inside, only my own reflection coming
to meet me as I approached.

“Wait here, fathead. I’ll see if she’s ready to
receive you,” the first flying boy said. Two panels slid apart and he entered
with a flip of his wings but I could see nothing but darkness within.

I tried to ignore the others, still pointing
and laughing, making ever more ribald gestures. I couldn’t hear their jokes but
it wasn’t too difficult to figure out the substance. Those who can’t often
laugh at those who do.

The first one came back. “All right, all right.
Go on in. Try not to trip over your own big, flat feet...or anything else.
Mortals. Pfui!”

Afterwards, I knew there were carved gilded
couches, gleaming silver mirrors that reflected candlelight, carpets so thick
it was like walking on sea-foam, bowls piled high with ambrosia, and a bed wide
enough for a battalion. At that moment, however, I saw none of it.

She sat in a graceful attitude, reading a
scroll, her cheek resting gently on her hand. When she raised her eyes, her
smile was all that was kind and benignant, a queen to her suppliant. When I did
nothing but stand there, her gaze became a little more intense, her smile a
little more amused.

“Have you nothing to say to me?” she asked.

“Pardon, lady....”

“You are permitted to be amazed.”

“I am. How did you get here,
Doris
, and where is here?”

“
Doris
?”
It was almost a wail. Throwing aside the scroll, she hastened to one of the
mirrors and put a shriveled hand to a wrinkled cheek. She did not blink or
wriggle her nose or, indeed, do anything that I could see to make a
transformation happen. One instant there stood the withered crone, clad in
dusty black, the next she was...

A flat-footed fatheaded mortal like me could
never describe what she was like except to say, “Aphrodite.”

Chapter 13

“You have done well, Eno. The events at Leros
proved you are ready to be my champion. You showed courage and tenacity in
proportion with your strength. Now I ask you to serve me in your next task. My
need of you is very great.”

Her eyes were not old the way the little
fat-flyer’s had been. Time had no reckoning in their depths. They were neither
old nor young. They measured me from the inside out. I could keep no secret
thought, no hidden crime, safe from those eyes.

For the rest, she was beauty itself. I did not
desire her, knowing myself to be nothing but the most disgusting worm that crawls
and not worthy to touch the floor where she had passed. There was nothing
flirtatious in her behavior toward me, not at all what I would have expected
from the Goddess of Love. She was beautiful to my eyes but in the way that
one’s mother is beautiful no matter how she appears to other people. I could
see no flaw in face or form so long as she smiled upon me, even if it was the
smile of a loving mother to an idiotic son.

“I will serve you to the best of my poor
abilities, Lady, but are you sure there aren’t others more apt?”

She shook her head gravely. “You are my hero,
now, Eno. Thrace came late to my worship but I have no fault to find in you.
Listen while I tell you what I need of you.”

I knew I would never forget a word. She leaned
back on her couch, gazing through me as though I were not there. It seemed an
countless span of time before she spoke again.

“Do you know how this war in Troy began?”

When a goddess asks a question, fixing
fathomless eyes upon her suppliant, it is impossible to lie, or even to be
tactful. Only truth, bitter or sweet, can serve her and you must accept the
consequences if she is angry.

“You, er, promised to reward Paris of Troy with
the most beautiful woman in the world if he would give you the Golden Apple
marked ‘For the Fairest’?” At the last possible instant, I managed to lift my
voice into a question.

Her full mouth tightened and a sinuous glass
vase on a marble tabletop suddenly shattered. In a blink of an eye, it
reconstituted itself. Nevertheless, I was warned.

“That’s what everyone says! And it’s not fair!
Who threw that Apple into the midst of the wedding feast anyway, I’d like to
know?”

“I never heard.”

“Eris, that’s who! Meddling wretch! They don’t
called her ‘Strife’ for nothing. I’ve never liked her, you know, not really.”

“Why did she do it?”

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Abruptly
her mood changed again, not longer the furious girl tricked by an jealous
enemy. Now she was the housewife, short-changed in the marketplace and
determined to prove her point. “I have had time to consider the matter, now
that I am cooler. I have looked into the past, tracing each thread of the web.
I cannot see the future, that is not in my gift, but I can make guesses as to
what the future holds.”

I waited, poised like a piece of gold leaf on
the tip of a needle, fluctuating with her breath, her mood.

“Prior to the war, all was peace on earth and
on Olympus as well. Heroes like Perseus and Theseus had calmed much of the
world, discovering mysteries, building great cities of learning, culture, and
wisdom. Who would not want such a state of affairs to continue?”

I didn’t feel this was a question I could
answer. Peace and quiet is all very well, but how could I make a living from
it? If some beast isn’t ravaging the countryside or some mad-man trying to
overthrow a king, I’d have to go back to shearing sheep. I hate sheep.

She seemed to be waiting for me. “Strife?” I
said.

“Yes, Eris. But she could not come up with such
a perfect scheme on her own. Her idea of a clever plan is getting two children
to tease each other in the back of the cart on a long, hot trip somewhere. She
wasn’t invited to the wedding and that made her mad but she was more likely to
put Pegasus poo in the punchbowl than toss an Apple into our midst. I wished
she had.”

“That would have caused chaos,” I said.

“You are quite right, clever Eno. It caused
great chaos among us and, as is so often the way, it has spilled from heaven
onto mankind. We were so close to peace and happiness for all until this
dreadful war. And who profits from such a thing?”

“The only one I can see is Hades, expanding his
kingdom of the dead.”

She considered it then dismissed it. “Not
Hades. His actions are more straight-forward that this. Besides, Troy is in
deadlock right now. The Greeks are on the beach and the Trojans are in their
towers and very few are dying. It is not there we must look for answers.”

“Then where?”

“Troezen. What is happening there?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I cannot go there now, none of the Gods can,
any more than we could go to Leros before the king broke off his evil doings
with the Nausicaa creature. We have great power, Eno, but if men close their
hearts to us, we cannot break in. If they stopper them with greed or hatred or
even too much doting on another person or thing, we are kept out.”

“But so many people on Leros must have been
praying for succor. Why couldn’t you help them?” I may have let my tone get a
little too demanding. One of the large mirrors cracked, the pieces pouring out
of the frame and then falling up in a quick repair.

“The King is the keeper of the will and hearts
of his people,″ she answered primly.
‶
If his heart is dark, the whole
nation’s is dark.”

“Is that what is happening in Troezen? Anther
king worshiping darkness?”

She smiled at me. I felt like an child who had
guessed the answer of a difficult puzzle, half-proud, half-ashamed.

“I think so. That’s how it feels anyway. If I
could only rouse another God long enough to attend to me....”

“Rouse?”

“I should not say any more.” She nibbled on one
delicate thumbnail. “Oh, very well. It’s simply impossible on Olympus just now.
They’re all so immersed in this war business that they are neglecting their
proper spheres. They all sit around boasting about this champion and that
battle. And they are cheating.″

‶
Don′t they always?″
I said but she didn′t blast me into a red mist, only wrinkling her
enchanting nose at me.

‶
Men are supposed to handle
their own business unless they pray for help. And even then we’re not supposed
to answer all the time. Mankind must be left to work things out on their own or
they’ll get spoiled and do nothing.”

“Absolutely.” I would have sooner pluck out my
eyes than disagree with her on mortal-God relations.

“But we Gods are helping without waiting to be
asked. Prophecies and winds and dragons and I don’t know what all. I have a few
children and children’s children in this fight and of course I support them.
But I can’t make the others see that there’s something else going on. I can’t
even get one of them to look at Troezen or Leros. Why are they so distracted?
Why are they eating those orange crunchy things when they have ambrosia? And
when I, I, Aphrodite, try to talk to them, they tell me to go away. No one
tells me to go away!”

The whole building rattled. A multi-tiered
chandelier crashed down. Dirt sifted on to me from a large crack in the
ceiling. I could see in one of the mirrors that the door behind me had opened
and the flying boys were peering in.

“Hey, boss. This barbarian bastard giving you
any headaches?”

She gestured, a mere flick of her hand, and
everything was all right again. The flying boys disappeared as if they’d been
yanked backwards.

“Orange crunchy things?”

“They are supposed to taste like crunchy
cheese. Hera′s put on pounds and pounds, not that her figure was anything
to boast of. But that’s unimportant, though if she doesn′t cut back,
she′s going to look like Silenus. And if my husband doesn’t start washing
his hands before he comes to bed, I’m going to go live in a cave and be an
oracle. That nasty orange dust gets all over everything.”

She calmed herself with a few deep breaths. I
looked down at my ugly feet, counting the toes until she stopped expanding her
chest. “I believe the answer to all my questions lies in Troezen. Will you go
there for me, Eno?”

“I will. I am going there already.”

“Then I will give you this. Bend, hero,” She
leaned forward and pressed her lips to my brow, again like a mother. “It is a
passport. No one can prevent your entrance if you wear my kiss on your brow.
Wit and courage you have enough.”

“My Lady, if I may ask one boon....”

“Your harpy?” she said with understanding so
warm that it brought tears to my eyes. “I was born of the sea, you know. So
long as she is journeying upon the water, I will protect her. More than that, I
cannot do.”

‶
And one other thing....″

“Mortals...” she muttered. “What is it?”

“You said something about before about praying
to the Fearful Goddess, that the people should pray that she does not attack
Leros. Who is she?”

One by one the candles in the room began to wink
out, until finally there was only a single shaft, a brilliant beam of light,
shining from somewhere above. It illuminated her, making her seem taller and
more imposing, more strange. She was not mother, teacher, lover or even goddess
now but something beyond the reach of my power to describe.

Her shadow on the ground began to alter,
twisting, and evolving. I shut my eyes, knowing that her form was beyond my
understanding but not beyond my fears. I realized that the gods took on the
semblance of human guise for the sake of our comprehension, not for their own.

“Do you know now who is to be feared?”

I fell on my knees at the sheer power of her
voice. I could not speak but an eager, desperate prayer formed in my mind that
she should return to her own form and not blast me into nothingness with the
blink of an eye. She answered it, dwindling down into the essence of beauty and
grace.

“You have much to do, Eno. I fear that Troezen
trembles on the edge of crimes more horrible than those you forestalled in
Leros. So hurry, my little Thracian warrior, my missionary, my hero, hurry.”

I stood again in darkness listening to the
distant call of the sea, the sputtering torch at my feet, all the more blind as
my eyes had grown accustomed to her limitless light. Picking up the torch and
blowing on it to bring the flame back, I looked around. The faded fresco on the
wall had been miraculously refreshed, colored so vividly that the artist might
have left the sanctuary just a moment before. I now saw before me Aphrodite
rising from the waves on a seashell of pure gold. The painter hadn’t done her
justice, but who could?

***

Phandros had been making
early-morning-after-a-hard-night noises for a while before he sat up. I lifted
his limp hand and wrapped his fingers around a gourd of watered wine. He got it
to his mouth without spilling more than a third of it. After a few gulps, he
opened sticky eyes. The wine had helped but he still needed a few tries to say,
“What...how?”

His eyes opened all the way with surprise when
I replaced the drink with a dry sausage. “Is this magic?”

“No, it’s a rescue.” Now that he could see, I
gestured over the water. A fishing boat had run up onto a sandbar in the night.
The broken mast dangled over the side, trailing bedraggled sails.

“Who’s rescuing who?” Phandros asked, taking in
the boat’s condition between sips and bites.

“I’m not sure yet. It’s a father and his son.
The father got sick, the boy didn’t know what to do. They’ve been drifting a
while, I think. They were down to about half a cup of water.”

“So the boy beached the boat?”

“He saw our fire which, thanks to you, drew
them to us. I think they’ve been sailing around in circles for if they’d
navigated in a straight line they would have soon found their way.”

Phandros eyed his half-eaten sausage
suspiciously. “It’s not a plague or anything?”

“They said he was delirious with fever but it
left him last night just about the time the ship hit the sand.”

“Hmmm. All right then.” Phandros tore again
into the sausage with remarkable appetite for a man in a delicate condition.
“So where are they now?” he said, around a mouthful.

“They’re choosing a new mast from the trees
here. I discouraged them from waiting for you to wake up. They seemed to think
you are Dionysus and want to worship you for saving them. I didn’t think you’d
care for them kissing your hands and feet so early in the morning.”

“Very funny. They think you’re bloody Hercules,
I suppose. Where’s that wine?”

A couple more gulps brought the color back into
his cheeks. He staggered off for a pee and a wash. Returning, he stopped short
when he got a good look at me.

“Did that hair come on the boat, too?” he asked
after a disbelieving pause.

I ran my hand over the thick mass sprouting
from my scalp. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. First place I’m going
when we get off this rock is a barber’s.”

The fisherman and his son were a hundred
leagues out of their way. I couldn’t help suspecting that there had been a bit
of godly meddling in this misfortune. The name written under their ship′s
painted eye was
Cythereia
, one of the
Goddess of Desire’s many names.

It gave me a most uneasy feeling, knowing she
was watching over me. If I failed, the blame would be entirely mine. Only a
mistake so big that my name would live as an example of ultimate stupidity
could bring me down. She would find another champion and I’d be a by-word of
infamy. I was tempted to run away to hide myself under a very large rock. Only
the promise that the harpy would be under Aphrodite′s care so long as she
journeyed on the sea kept me going. I had to redeem my betrayal or there’d be
no rock in the world big enough to hide me from my own conscience.