Hero for Hire (18 page)

I went inside to inspect some faded painted decoration high on the side wall. Blue and purple curves in an antique style, worn by wind and rain into a meaningless blur, told me nothing.

Turning away, I dropped the torch. It fell to 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.”

“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 a 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, no longer the furious girl tricked by a 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? Another king worshiping darkness?”

She smiled at me. I felt like a 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.