Medusa, A Love Story (The Loves of Olympus) (10 page)

“Lady?” Ariston’s voice filled the temple.

The sound of his voice sent terror coursing through her. This was Poseidon, a God. With a word he could end Ariston’s life. She felt the hot prick of tears burning her eyes.

Poseidon watched her. “I will have you.”

She felt the wetness of tears on her cheek, but she said nothing. There was nothing for her to say.

But she saw Ariston then. And, as the cloud parted, he saw her. His anger was evident as he came towards them – his face twisted and his body grew taut and ready.

Poseidon watched Ariston with an amused smile. Her fear mounted.

Ariston charged, his sword drawn.

Medusa drew breath to cry out. But Poseidon rose high into the air, buoyed by the fog, and vanished.

The grey cloud thickened. It swirled around her, a vaporous serpent, before it gusted from the temple. As it left, it lifted Ariston and threw him against the wall with uncontrolled power. Ariston’s body fell to the floor, his head striking a column with a resounding thud.

Medusa cried out, horrified at the sight of his still form. She ran towards his crumpled body and knelt beside him with her heart in her throat. But his chest rose and fell. He lived. Her tears spilled over at her relief.

“Heal his wounds, Hera, for he is a son of Greece. Give him strength, Ares, for he is a warrior for Olympus…” she whispered prayers as she leaned over him, calling on each God.

Finally his eyes fluttered open, causing her prayers to stick in her throat. He stared about him, blinking rapidly. His gaze found hers, widening in surprise.

She sat back, silently offering up prayers of thanks.

He rose onto his elbow, holding his head and speaking softly, “Who was that villain, lady?”

Medusa shook her head. Words would not come. She must gather herself. Ariston was well. Poseidon was gone.

But the God’s words filled her ears anew.

No, not words, not idle conversation. He’d promised her, a pledge she knew he’d keep. Coldness found her, causing her to tremble.

“Are you injured, mistress?”

“No.” She was shivering. Why couldn’t she stop shivering?

Ariston unhooked the gold disk that secured his robe and slid it from his shoulders. He moved closer to her, carefully, draping the softly worn fabric about her shoulders. He pulled the fabric together then slipped the clasp home, ever mindful of his closeness.

“He touched you?” Ariston’s voice wavered.

She shook her head, staring at him with unspoken need. Heat radiated from him, clinging to his cloak, offering comfort and safety. She ached for him, for his arms about her.

“No one saw, lady. No one will know.” His voice was firm, entreating.

“He did not touch me.” Medusa’s voice hitched.

His face, his beautiful face, twisted. Medusa saw the anger he fought to repress. “What happened?”

“It… He was Poseidon… He came for me.” She stood, bracing herself against the pillar.

He watched her face. “He came for you?” He stood slowly, moving closer to her. “For your father? But Athena…”

She shook her head, leaning against the pillar as she whispered, “For his wife… He would have me as wife…” She could not stop the panic that colored her words. She regarded him through fresh tears, her voice hitching uncontrollably as she tried to go on. “I could not…”

He bit out the words, “You cannot. You are Athena’s. And she will protect you.” He paused, his chest rising and falling harshly as his eyes traveled over her. His next words were strong and clear. “If Athena does not protect you, I will. I swear it to you.” The muscle in his jaw tightened – inviting her touch.

They were the sweetest words she’d ever heard. She knew he meant them. With every fiber of his being, he would protect her.

She searched his face, drawing upon his strength. Whatever her fate was, knowing he was alive and well would bring her happiness. “No.” She would not risk him. “You must do your duty, soldier, as I must do mine.” She pulled her gaze from his, pushing herself from the pillar and moving to the robes room.

But his troubled face, the raw anguish she felt, kept sleep at bay.

###

“This is your solution?” Zeus looked astounded.

“It will make peace with Phorcys
and
Athena. It will honor them both. Surely you see this, brother?” Poseidon asked. He would need his brother to succeed.

Zeus stared at him from under thick brows, amused. “You think Athena will be honored to have her priestess taken as your wife?”

Poseidon’s irritation with Athena was all but forgotten. “I will give my niece a statue for her new temple. It shall be larger than any other of her likeness, as grand as she desires. I will give her whatever tribute she asks.” His voice grew rough. “But I will have Medusa as wife.” He burned with a new fire – to possess Medusa.

Zeus watched him with growing understanding. “I see.”

Poseidon saw Zeus’ look and shook his head. Poseidon was known for his conquests. He’d sired more children than any other God, by women willing or taken by force. Hera had often chided him, comparing his temperament to that of his kingdom, the sea.

He preened under such comparisons.

Truly, was there a more glorious thing than the untamed sea? His affection ebbed and flowed, he took what he wanted – regardless of the destruction it might cause. He was a selfish deity, but he felt no shame for it. Why should he? He was a God.

“You will
marry
her?” Zeus asked again.

“Yes.” His passion drove him. He had no doubt that his lust was evident on the flush of his cheeks and the dew of his brow. But if marriage was the only way to have her, this untried prize amongst women, he would happily wed her.

“Can not a nymph…” Zeus began.

“You have not seen her,” Poseidon countered, shaking his head.

“Should I? Should I see this creature that’s bewitched you so?” Zeus asked, only half in jest.

Poseidon glared at his brother, his anger rising. “You have a wife. You need not another consort. You worry over Athena? Your daughter would hardly be pleased by such an arrangement. At least I might attempt an honorable offer.” He spoke urgently. “I will wed Medusa… I must have her.”

“And Phorcys?” Zeus asked.

“Will have his daughter wed to a God. I will give her immortality. His grandchildren will be demi-gods. How could he not be pleased?” Poseidon cared nothing about Phorcys or the Titan’s wishes.

“Mayhap you are right, but this is a delicate matter that will take time…”

“Soon.” His blood would not cool. She’d bewitched him.

Zeus regarded him closely. “You question me?” His words were hard, the edge a threat his brother was quick to recognize.

Poseidon was wise enough to avert his eyes, staring at the floor while he wrestled with his fury. “No, brother.” To challenge Zeus was to lose Medusa. He would endure his brother’s decree until she was safely his.

Zeus sighed, taking his time before pronouncing, “It is Anestheria. On the final eve, two nights thus, Athena will select her new handmaiden. This is when Athena will release your bride.”

Poseidon relaxed. “Two nights….”

“Hold, brother,” Zeus cautioned, “Let her find some rest before she is summoned back to Athena’s temple. Two days more and she will be yours. You will have your bride, for I see the fever in your blood.”

Poseidon held his tongue, his frustration trapped inside.

Zeus grasped his shoulders. “You must have patience. Go, gain Phorcys’ blessing.” He paused. “I will deal with Athena. When I do, you should be far from Olympus.”

Poseidon’s irritation eased then. His hunger for Medusa had wiped his original intent from his mind. And yet he’d won. He’d bested his insolent niece – and he would have Medusa, too.

Chapter Five

Medusa leaned against the temple column in the fading sunlight, vaguely aware of the goings on about her. The distant sounds of Athens reached her, lifted by a crisp breeze. Someone was singing, accompanied by a lyre, on a distant hill. It was a pleasant tune – especially when compared to the sounds of her aunt and uncles’ quarreling. She could hear them inside the temple, placing their offerings on Athena’s dais. 

Elpis was at her side, waiting anxiously. She knew Elpis worried over her, more so since Poseidon had visited. In truth the one thing Medusa wanted was something Elpis wouldn’t give her – a moment’s solitude.

Thea circled overhead, searching the temple grounds for any sign of food. Medusa watched the owl, relishing the animal’s grace and freedom.

Tonight she envied even the sun’s rays. Spread across the horizon, streaks of orange, pink and red faded far to the east overhead. Medusa’s gaze traced a bright magenta streak, wishing she might slip away with the sun. Far, far away.

As she turned, she was careful to keep her gaze from Ariston. She could imagine his curls dancing in the evening breeze, flaxen as the sun shone on him. She knew that he, too, stood close enough to protect her, yet far enough to see any advancing danger. Yet she could not look upon him – had not since Poseidon came.

“Look, there, Thea has her prey,” Elpis said, capturing Medusa’s attention.

Medusa looked where Elpis pointed. “A mouse?”

“Or a small rabbit?” Elpis suggested.

Thea ate quickly and flew to Medusa, settling onto the leather brace over her mistress’ arm with a satisfied coo.

“You are a mighty huntress, my Thea.” Medusa praised the bird.

A shout went up from the city, followed by much laughter. Medusa looked at Elpis, who smiled and shrugged.

Choes had been uneventful, Medusa was thankful for that. She’d been weary enough, with troubled thoughts and dreams, without worrying over the dangers of a drunken city. In a few hours, Athena would meet the Chytroi’s procession here at the temple. The procession marked the end of the Sacred Marriage, Hieros Gamos. It was a great celebration, honoring the city’s Goddess and her birth.

Once the Hieros Gamos ended, Athena would visit her temple for her naming ceremony. While it was a simple ceremony, Athena’s rituals did not include the citizens of Athens. Citizens did not know which maid hid beneath Athena’s veils for the first year in her position. Whoever was chosen would simply be called “Priestess”. Those maidens Athena did not select for Athens, she might send on to another of her temples. The others returned home, to marry or care for their family.

Medusa remembered her first ceremony. She’d barely reached her twelfth year, having served as an arrephoroi, acolyte to Athena, for three years prior. Athena had known Medusa, loved her, called her “Little One” since she’d been a small child.

When Athena had called her name, Medusa had never felt such joy. Through that act, Athena had guaranteed Medusa a home, peace, and purpose.

Medusa’s name had been called for the last five years. Each time Athena would smile and say simply, “My little one.”

But Poseidon may have pled his case by now. If Athena called her name this night, would it be to place her hand in Poseidon’s?

Her aunt and uncle had arrived at the temple earlier, laden with offerings for the evening’s ceremony, as was their tradition. But their presence served to stretch the limits of Medusa’s endurance. Galenus complained loudly, disgruntled by the festival, their travels, and all.

Thea seemed to share in Medusa’s restlessness, flitting between the branches of the olive tree and the roof of the temple. When she’d tried to soothe Thea, the bird had flown to Ariston, settling upon his shoulder and leaning into his caress.

Oh, how she envied Thea.

“That is done,” Galenus said, leading Xenia from the temple. “Let us eat before Athena arrives, shall we?”

Sitting upon a thick rug beneath the shade of a large olive tree, Xenia shared their adventures in Athens with Medusa and Elpis. Xenia was absorbed in her storytelling, finding nothing amiss. Galenus, however, stared at Medusa. From the corner of her eye she saw her uncle’s gaze narrow, peering at her with ever increasing impatience.

“What ails you, niece?” Galenus asked, effectively ending Xenia’s praise for their earlier meal of tender braised pheasant and roast lamb. “Are you ill?”

There was no reason to keep Poseidon’s visit from them, yet she suspected sharing such events might only add to her burdens. “My heart is heavy, Uncle. And I’ve slept little of late.” Yet she knew to proceed with caution.

“Are you sickly, child?” Xenia repeated, her voice growing anxious.

Medusa shook her head. “No… I’m fine.”

“You are plainly not fine,” Galenus asserted.

Medusa’s eyes traveled up, into the branches of the olive tree that gave them shade. Thea regarded her with round yellow eyes. The bird, sensing her mistress’ nerves, cooed to Medusa softly in encouragement.

Medusa smiled slightly at Thea, then said, “I was visited… by the Sea God.”

“Visited? By Poseidon?” Galenus scowl deepened. “Speak plainly, girl.”

Xenia gasped, covering her face with her hands. “He… he has compromised you?”

“Has he… What?” Galenus voice rose, leaping to his feet.

Medusa rose too, shaking her head. “Peace, Uncle…”

“Where was your soldier?” Galenus roared. His face grew mottled, reddening as he turned in search of Ariston.

Ariston stepped forward, ready to answer to her uncle. She knew he’d stayed, with ever more diligence, constantly in her shadow since Poseidon had left. His devotion knew no bounds – sleeping outside the robes room, standing in the temple door, and following her every step.

And her heart was both full and heavier for it.

Medusa dared to meet Ariston’s gaze briefly, struck by the agony in his silver-grey eyes. It saddened her to see such suffering at her hands. As if he, her beloved Ariston, could have protected her from Poseidon.

He could not.

“He did not touch me, Uncle.” Medusa said quickly.

Her aunt and uncle regarded her in confusion. 

“I have no patience for this, Medusa,” Galenus warned.

“Poseidon would have me as wife,” Medusa said softly. Beyond her uncle’s shoulder, she saw Ariston’s face turn ashen.