Finally the king wiped his eyes. He gazed for a moment at the unfamiliar tears staining his fingers, then looked at Orpheus.
‘It is forbidden for the dead to return to the Upper World,’ he said softly. ‘But you have melted my heart with your song. Return to the living. Eurydice will follow. But I make one condition –’
‘Anything!’ shouted Orpheus.
‘That you promise not to look at her until you reach sunlight. If you do, she will be lost to you for ever.’
‘Thank you, thank you,’ murmured Orpheus.
The queen looked at Susan. ‘Is that what women are wearing now in the Upper World?’ she asked, eyeing Susan’s clothes with distaste.
‘Yes,’ said Susan. ‘And a lot more comfortable than dragging about in some old tunic,’ she added.
‘Humph,’ said the queen.
Hades waved them away.
‘Go now, and your Eurydice will follow.’
‘Why’d you let them go?’ demanded the queen. ‘We could have had that music here for ever.’
‘All in good time,’ snapped the king.
Orpheus picked up his lyre and played as he and Susan walked quickly down the dank corridor, the very statues turning their heads to listen. Behind them Susan heard the faint rustle of a woman’s long robe.
‘Oh Zeus, is it her?’ murmured Orpheus.
‘Don’t look,’ said Susan. ‘Keep playing.’
Out through the high gates they went, to the banks of the River Styx.
‘You again,’ said the ferryman, as he rowed them across.
‘Is she with us?’ asked Orpheus.
‘That would be telling,’ sniffed the ferryman.
Out of the boat they clambered, one, two, three.
‘I can’t bear this,’ said Orpheus.
‘You must,’ said Susan. It was everything she could do not to look as well. Hades hadn’t mentioned her, but better safe than sorry, she thought.
Up, up, up they climbed, towards the Upper World.
Gradually the light changed from black to grey.
‘We’re almost there!’ shouted Susan. She started to run. ‘I can see light up ahead!’
‘Eurydice! We’re almost there!’ shouted Orpheus, hoarse but exultant.
There was no reply.
‘Nymph! Why isn’t she answering?’ said Orpheus.
‘I don’t know,’ said Susan.
‘What if she isn’t there?’ said Orpheus. ‘What if . . . Eurydice! Eurydice!’ he called.
Still she did not answer.
And then Orpheus, at the very entrance to Hades, turned his head, just a quick peek.
She was there, just behind him.
‘Eurydice!’ he murmured.
A whirlwind blew through the tunnel.
‘Orpheuuuuus!’ she wailed, as she tumbled into the darkness. ‘Orpheuuuuuus!’
‘What have I done?’ said Orpheus. ‘What have I done?’
‘How could you!’ shrieked Susan. ‘Why did you look? I told you not to look!’
Orpheus let out a howl of despair.
‘I was afraid she wasn’t there,’ he sobbed.
Susan burst into tears.
‘I can’t bear this,’ she wept. ‘I want to go home.’
‘Home,’ muttered Orpheus in a daze. ‘Home. I shall go back to Thrace.’
And then Susan felt herself falling.
‘Susan! I’m waiting!’
Susan shook herself. She was lying in a crumpled heap on her bedroom floor.
She was back.
‘Coming, Mum,’ said Susan, wiping the tears from her face.
Mrs Parry stared at her as she put down her bow.
‘Goodness, you’ve improved!’ she said. ‘That was wonderful. I don’t recognize your playing at all!’
‘I had a good teacher,’ said Susan.
3
PERSUADING PARIS
‘Now let me see,’ said Mrs Winter, ‘who shall I choose to play the queen?’
Susan’s hand shot up. So did the hand of every other girl in the class. Even Big Bob waved his hand about, shrieking, ‘Me! Me!’
Oh please pick me, thought Susan, shoving her hand in the air as high as it would go. She loved acting, and this year’s class play promised to be such fun. The queen got to sword-fight, fly, and boss around loads of servants. She could see herself now, snapping her fingers at sluggish slaves with one hand while fighting off baddies with the other.
Mrs Winter’s eyes swept over the class. Then she smiled.
‘I think Helen should be the queen,’ she said.
Helen smirked.
Susan groaned and slumped on the carpet. Stupid, stuck-up, bossy Helen. How could Mrs Winter make such a bad choice? She’d always liked Mrs Winter up till now, but never again. She was the nastiest, meanest, stupidest teacher in the world and she hated her.
‘Sit up please, Susan,’ said Mrs Winter.
Susan scowled and straightened up a fraction of an inch.
‘Yasmin, you will be the evil wizard, Joshua, the magician, and the rest of you will be palace guards and servants,’ continued Mrs Winter. ‘Now, any volunteers for programme-makers and scene changers?’
Worse and worse, thought Susan sullenly, slumping down again. She did not want to play a servant. Phooey to that. She wanted to be the queen. Watching that horrible Helen tossing her curls and grinning triumphantly was unbearable.
‘I’d be a much better queen than Helen,’ Susan muttered. ‘I’m a better actor, and I can sword-fight. Bet she can’t.’
She glared at Helen and stuck out her tongue.
Helen stuck out her tongue back.
‘Helen!’ said Mrs Winter. ‘Is that any way for a queen to behave?’ Susan’s heart leaped. Maybe Mrs Winter wouldn’t let Helen play the queen after all. But Mrs Winter carried on chattering about props and costumes.
Susan reached into her pocket and took out her Greek coin, turning its warm, rough surface over and over in her fingers. She peeked at it under the table. Instead of a lyre the front now had a profile of a beautiful woman, her hair piled high. Susan’s fingers tingled.
‘Susan!’ said Mrs Winter. ‘You’re away with the fairies! Kindly rejoin us and pay attention.’
Susan scowled and clutched the coin. ‘I’ll give you away with the fairies,’ she muttered, then closed her eyes and wished.
‘MOO!’
‘MOO!’
Susan looked up. She was lying on rough grass, surrounded by cows. Their huge brown eyes were staring down at her.
Susan waved her hands, and sat up.
‘Shoo!’
The beasts took several steps back, then stood still, their tails flicking at the flies buzzing about them.
She was in a sloping, hilly pasture, near the top of a rocky mountain, surrounded by oak woods and the jutting peaks of nearby hills, thick with black cypresses. The hot sun blazed down from the cloudless blue sky.
Then Susan heard running footsteps, and a young, tall, very handsome herdsman came into view. The cows scattered as he approached. He saw her, then instantly stopped short, shading his eyes as if he were blinded by a brilliant light.
‘Oh mighty and exalted goddess, shield my mortal eyes from your heavenly radiance!’ cried the herdsman, flinging himself to the ground before her, narrowly missing several cowpats.
At last, someone who appreciated her, thought Susan, preening. And, a promotion from nymph to goddess! How thoughtful of the magic. She beamed at the handsome, prostrate herdsman.
‘Where am I?’ said Susan.
‘On the highest peak of Mount Ida, oh noble and powerful one.’
‘Ah,’ said Susan, wishing she’d paid more attention in her geography lessons. ‘And who are you, mortal?’
‘I am Paris, a herdsman of Troy,’ said the man. ‘You’ve come for the beauty contest, I presume,’ he added, continuing to hide his eyes. ‘Forgive my blindness, but which goddess are you?’
Beauty contest? What on earth was
he on about, wondered Susan. Unless, of course, freckles and wiggly teeth like hers were the height of Greek beauty.
‘I am the goddess Susan,’ she said majestically. ‘The Fierce and Fair.’
Cautiously, the herdsman peeped through his fingers. He seemed to see her properly for the first time.
‘The goddess . . . Susan? Your fame has not yet travelled to this lonely place,’ he said carefully. ‘Where are the others?’
‘What others?’ said Susan.
‘I was told to expect three: Hera, Heaven’s queen, Athena, goddess of wisdom, and Aphrodite, goddess of love,’ said Paris. ‘There was no mention of a Susan. I naturally thought, given your sudden arrival in this lonely place, that you were the first. Although . . .’ he looked at Susan more closely.
‘Forgive me, you do seem a little, uh, small, for a goddess,’ he said. ‘You are a goddess from far away?’
‘Yes,’ said Susan. She thought quickly. ‘Goddess of London. I’ve come to help you.’
Paris brightened at once.
‘I’m glad you’re here. I’m in the most terrible muddle. The messenger god Hermes came to see me and said I have to judge who is the most beautiful: Hera, Athena, or Aphrodite. It seems there was this wedding between King Peleus of Pythia and a sea nymph, Thetis, and naturally Eris the goddess of Strife wasn’t invited, so during the wedding feast she sneaked in and threw a golden apple right in the middle of the guests. Look, here it is.’
Paris reached inside his roughly-woven tunic and brought out a glowing golden apple. Susan took it, rolling its beautiful smooth surface between her hands. On it was written an inscription.
‘What does it say?’ she asked.
‘For the fairest,’ he said. ‘That’s why the goddesses all started quarrelling, and now by order of Almighty Zeus I’m to pick the most beautiful.’
Susan stroked the shiny apple. How lovely it was. She longed to keep it.
‘Why do you think Zeus wanted you to judge? Why didn’t he just do it himself?’
‘Because I’m so clever and good-looking,’ said Paris, plucking the apple out of Susan’s reluctant hands. ‘Hermes did happen to mention that the gods consider me the handsomest man in the world.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Susan thoughtfully.
‘Huh,’ said Paris, looking offended.
‘I mean you are perfectly handsome–’ goodness these Greeks were vain! ‘I think you were asked because Zeus didn’t want to choose himself and have two enemies for life.’
‘Ahh,’ said Paris. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ He frowned at the gleaming apple. ‘Perhaps that’s why my wife Oenone has been crying since I told her of Hermes’ visit.’
Suddenly the meadow filled with light. Birds burst into song and the soft air was fragrant with perfume.
‘By Hercules,’ murmured Paris. ‘Look at them.’
Susan shaded her eyes as the goddesses approached, tall, majestic, glorious. Their bare feet hardly touched the grass.
‘Don’t be frightened, mortal,’ said the grey-eyed goddess, Athena, taking off her helmet and scattering her silky hair.
‘Who is this . . . person with you, who dares to look upon us?’ demanded Hera.
‘I am the goddess Susan of London, a powerful place far far away,’ said Susan. ‘I am famous there for . . . for my beautiful feet and bad temper.’
Everyone stared at her grubby trainers.
‘It’s just a child,’ said Athena. ‘Leave her be.’
‘You’ll be quiet if you know what’s good for you,’ said Hera. Then she addressed herself to Paris.
‘We want this to be a fair contest,’ said Hera.
‘Absolutely,’ said Athena.
‘Definitely,’ said Aphrodite. She gave Paris a little wave. Athena glared at her.
‘Paris, you just look us over and decide who is the fairest,’ said Hera. ‘Though I have no doubt one look at me will be enough to cast my rivals entirely in the shade. In fact, they might prefer to stand back a bit, lest my beauty show off their, ahem, blemishes.’
‘Yes, and your gi-normous hips and chipmunk cheeks!’ sneered Aphrodite.
‘And your owl face!’ growled Athena.
‘Mule!’
‘Crow!’
‘Flea-bag!’
‘Goddesses!’ shouted Susan. ‘Behave yourselves!’
The goddesses turned upon Susan.
‘What did you say?’ muttered Hera, raising her arm.
Suddenly Paris thrust the golden apple in Susan’s hand. ‘You choose,’ he said.
‘No way,’ said Susan, thrusting it back. ‘You’re the judge.’
‘You judge,’ said Paris.
He passed the apple to her.
‘You!’
‘You!’
‘All right,’ said Susan, taking the apple and sighing loudly. What a fuss they were making over a silly contest. She gave the sulky goddesses a good look over.
‘I object,’ said Hera majestically.
‘Paris can do as he likes,’ simpered Aphrodite.
‘Let’s await the decision before we act in haste,’ said Athena.
‘Okay,’ said Susan, ‘I rule that since you are all equally lovely we split the apple three ways.’ Now that was fair, she thought, and would stop a lot of bother and squabble.
For a moment the goddesses were silent. Then with one voice they turned on Susan.
‘How dare you!’ snapped Hera, her eyes darting fire.
‘The idea,’ said Athena, ‘As if my beauty could be considered equal to those . . . those . . . hussies.’
Aphrodite tossed her head. ‘Really, I’ve never heard anything so silly in my life. Perhaps, on a dark night, wearing veils, those two dishcloths might be mistaken for beauties. But to think that I, the loveliest goddess in the world, should merely be their equal – humph.’
‘Turn her into a mouse!’ screamed Hera.
‘No, a spider!’ shouted Athena.
‘A worm!’ hissed Aphrodite.
‘Wait! Wait!’ shouted Susan.
‘WE WANT PARIS TO JUDGE!’ shrieked the goddesses in unison.
‘Great idea,’ said Susan, handing the apple back to Paris and folding her arms. Those ungrateful goddesses.
Paris turned helpless eyes to her.
‘Sorry, I tried,’ she whispered.
Hera turned to Paris and spoke in a soft voice.
‘Now we’re just going to stand here quietly, not saying a word, and you’ll judge who is the loveliest.’
‘Agreed,’ said Athena and Aphrodite.
Paris stood still for several moments, looking at first one and then the others, bouncing the apple up and down in his hand.
‘Of course,’ said Hera, ‘should you choose me, I’ll make you the most powerful man in the world. Your armies will conquer wherever they go and your fame will echo everywhere. Just think, mortal, power over all!’
‘You’re trying to bribe him,’ said Susan. ‘That’s not fair!’
Everyone ignored her.
‘Ooh,’ said Paris. He walked towards Hera, the apple in his outstretched hand.
‘Not so fast, young man,’ said Athena, stepping forward and gazing at him with her sword-grey eyes. ‘Choose me and I will give you the most precious gift of all – wisdom. You will be the wisest man alive, with unrivalled knowledge of men and women, the arts, and of yourself. With wisdom like yours everything will be possible.’
‘Ooh,’ said Paris. He walked towards Athena.
‘Good choice, Paris,’ said Susan. Lucky Greek. She’d love to be the wisest woman in the world. Why hadn’t they offered bribes when she was judging? she thought indignantly.
Athena had her hand outstretched to take the prize when Aphrodite stepped forward, laughing.
‘Paris, you big silly,’ she giggled, tossing her long golden curls. ‘A mortal’s life is short, so why not spend it enjoying the love of the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen of Sparta? She is Zeus’ daughter, and almost
my equal for beauty and allure. Give me the prize and Helen will be yours.’
Paris stood still.
Susan grabbed his arm. ‘You’ve already got a perfectly good wife, Paris!’ she hissed. ‘If you must choose, choose wisdom!’
‘Shh,’ said Paris. He looked as if he were hypnotized.
‘Tell me more,’ he said to Aphrodite.
She smiled her wonderful smile.
‘Helen rules in Sparta with her husband King Menelaus,’ said Aphrodite. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll arrange everything.’
And she smiled again, shaking back her luxurious hair.
Susan was disgusted. Well, if they could all offer bribes for the apple, why shouldn’t she?
‘Power!’ said Hera.
‘Wisdom!’ said Athena.
‘Love,’ breathed Aphrodite.
‘Bubble gum!’ said Susan.
Paris stopped.
‘I thought you were told to be silent,’ snapped Hera.
‘What’s bubble gum?’ said Paris.
‘It’s the greatest,’ said Susan, fishing about in her pocket and taking out a piece. ‘Look, you pop it in your mouth like this–’ in went the pink gum–’ chew it about like this–’ Susan’s jaws worked vigorously at the gum, ‘then, blow!’
Susan blew and blew and blew. The thin pink bubble round her face grew larger, and larger, and larger . . .Then POP! The bubble burst.
The goddesses jumped in surprise and took a step back.
‘Ooh,’ said Paris. ‘Magic.’
Susan slurped the gum back into her mouth. ‘Bubble gum can’t be beat,’ she said.
Paris approached her.
‘Could I have some?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ said Susan. She dangled a piece in front of him.
‘I pronounce Susan the fairest,’ said Paris, handing her the golden apple.
‘WHAT?’ shrieked the goddesses. Their faces went pale and then dark with rage.
‘Yippee!’ shouted Susan. She tossed Paris the pack of gum. He held it reverently in his hand while Susan cavorted gleefully, clutching the glowing apple and feeling its maddening power seep inside her as she did her victory dance, oblivious to everything save the thrill of her triumph. She, Susan, had been judged more beautiful than Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite!
Helping Hercules Page 3