Ring of Gyges

by Ines Johnson

  Money had never truly mattered to me. Don’t get me wrong. I liked the finer things in life. Especially when it was on someone else’s dime.

  I liked adventure, digging for treasure, hunting for priceless artifacts, being the one to claim the find that everyone sought. The priceless treasure I sought was Leonidas Baros. After years of sitting at the kiddie table, I was done playing footsie with him. So, I emancipated myself after my dad’s death and moved to Greece to be with Baros … to train.

  The age of consent was fifteen in Greece. But even as I neared my eighteenth birthday Lenny was playing hard to get. I was under no delusions that he’d fall madly in love with me and change his ways. But neither was it like I didn’t believe in love. I had eyes and a library of VHS romcoms—without a working tape player, mind you. I’d witnessed the storybook love of Wesley and Buttercup, the stereophonic devotion of Lloyd to Diane. Hell, I’d seen my parents.

  But also, being the observant person that I was, I knew this type of thing didn’t happen to everybody. Maybe it was because I’d never had a friendship that stuck, maybe it was because I only got a few precious years with my mother, maybe it was because my father had brought me up around polygamous cultures, but somehow, I always knew that a true love story would not be for me.

  Don’t feel bad for me. I got my kicks in, and it all began with Lenny. Not sexually. I knew better than to offer him my virginity. I’d lost that a while ago with um … It doesn’t matter.

  When I showed up on his doorstep both looking like, as well as legally, every bit a grown woman, I knew he’d struggled between turning me away and keeping me as a student. I was his prodigy. But now I was lethal with a straight blade as well as with my womanly curves.

  I remembered the day it happened. We were working on a particular move; a parry sixte avec riposte.

  “En guarde,” Baros called with his thick Greek accent. The lilting French words never rolled off his tongue. He crashed about the vowels like a drill sergeant might make love.

  “Attack,” he commanded.

  I lunged into him. He held for a second until my blade was nearly upon him. Not until I extended myself, did he offer a defense.

  He began with a parry. A parry was a defensive action by the one being struck. It was used to stop the blade of the opponent. It was a simple enough maneuver, just a flick of your wrist to use your blade to move theirs aside. But Baros waited until I was nearly upon him to parry.

  Though the tip of the blade is the sharpest point of the sword, it’s also the weakest. With my blade being so close to his wrists and the base of his sword, he parried with the forte of his sword. In contrast to the hilt, the forte at the base of the sword was the strongest part of the weapon. So, when Baros’s forte met my hilt, I lost control of the fight. With just a flick of his wrist, he was able to riposte—or attack me.

  We were standing nose to nose with my blade trapped and his blade angling into my breasts. So were his eyes—angling down to look at my breasts. I held still knowing he had to be the one to make the move.

  But I’ve always been an impatient and aggressive girl. With his sword aimed at my heart, I leaned in and stole a kiss. He didn’t stop me. He didn’t scold me. He didn’t exactly kiss me back.

  When we broke apart, he raised his sword. “En guarde.”

  I did as I was commanded. Without warning, he attacked me. I waited.

  When his blade was near enough to my heart, I parried with my forte and his hilt went to his side. But when I went to riposte, he ducked out of my reach. Away from my eager blade and my hungry mouth.

  “Again,” he said.

  This time I attacked. He waited for me, but I was ready for him. He parried.

  Before he could riposte, I ducked down and out of his reach. But he’d changed the game on me again. He followed me down to the ground where another match was fought. We both let go of our swords and our hands found each other’s flesh.

  Long after my fighting session had ended, we came away sweaty, writhing, and sated. Clearly, I was the victor. And I had had more than one victory.

  That night, I thought just maybe this could turn into a storybook love. I spent the day mooning over him. I went to my landlord and inquired about a longer lease. I went shopping for actual dinner plates instead of the paper and plastic products I bought every couple of weeks.

  When I returned to his place for my next session, I got the lesson of my life. I walked in to find Baros riposting on top of another woman. Neither saw me as I backed out.

  I knew he did it on purpose. It was another lesson, and I got it. This was no fairytale. I was no damsel, I carried a blade. Happiness was a battle, not a given.

  I got it. It was the story of my life. But if I’m being honest, it cut deep. Other than my parents, Baros had been the only other constant in my life.

  I didn’t let him see me cry. I waited outside the door until he was finished. I smirked at the woman who preceded him out of the door. She looked like the only blade she ever lifted was a nail file. I knew he was toying with her, just like he’d toyed with so many others. He and I didn’t play around, we fought.

  I offered him a friendly greeting and came in. I took my lesson like normal. I think my nonchalance intrigued him. So, I kept it up. I let him chase me, tripping over my slow walking feet trying to get caught.

  Our relationship was on again and off again for years. He never remained faithful. But whoever he was with when I came around, he always nudged her to the side to give me attention. It was something. Not quite enough. But better than nothing. And I took it.

  What did I get in the end? He offered me up as a sacrifice to a Titan god. I think?

  See, here’s what I can’t get out of my mind. I keep playing that night back in Eleusis over and over again.

  I was standing before Hera, the brother-loving, daddy’s girl of a goddess who was trying to raise her homicidal father from the underworld. Baros stepped into the fray. His back was to Hera; his blade was to me.

  There’d been sorrow in his eyes. I think?

  There’d been hesitation in his movements when Hera had commanded him to move. I think?

  What I know for sure is that his wrist flicked, and his blade glinted in the moonlight as it advanced on me. But I ducked and rolled out of his reach. He didn’t follow me down as he could’ve. He stayed standing and let me get away.

  I think?

  It had been a parry sixte avec riposte. A move we’d practiced more times than I cared to remember both on the mat that first night and in the bedroom countless nights after. It was a move we both knew very well.

  Had he expected me to evade him? Or had he actually tried to kill me? I had to know. It was the only way to get closure.

  “Loren? Loren!”

  I turned my attention back to Geraint. It looked as though he’d been calling my name for a while.

  “Is that it?” he said.

  “Is that what?” I said.

  “Is that all you have to tell us about Baros?”

  I nodded. “Yup. Trust me, I want to find him as much as you. I need to get some closure on the past.”

  Chapter Five

  I walked down the halls of Tintagel castle. The passageways were alive with the laughter of children running about. Some played childish games. Others practiced their spells.

  Boys ran about with wooden swords. They were followed by some girls with pointed weapons drawn. But most girls carried around dolls and cradled poppets.

  A few couples meandered arm-in-arm like something out of a Victorian promenade. Those couples probably had been born in the Victorian era and kept their etiquette and mannerisms. But it wasn’t like you didn’t come upon a dark corner and find some gallant man throwing his prim paramour up against a wall and kissing her senseless.

  Camelot was a mix of old and new. It was a place of honor and revelry. It was home.

  I made my way to the Throne room. The doors were open. I stood on the threshold for a moment, just staring i
n. It still gave me a thrill each time I entered this room.

  The ceilings were vaulted high into the sky. The windows rose halfway toward the roof, which meant they were over twelve feet tall. Before each window was a column with flags and lances raised in salute. Iron chandeliers hung on chains with candles that held flames that were never doused. They were magical of course.

  There was a subdued opulence about the place. At the center, as though it grew from roots in the ground, was the Round Table. I’d never seen the tree to make wood like that. It was a rich brown that had shades of red and orange and gold. The gnarled bark was smooth to the touch. The rings of the tree, which was used to determine the arbor’s age, started at the center and ran to the edge. I’d tried counting it once and got lost before reaching the middle of the table. It was magical. I’d learned that it came from a different realm and was a gift from fairies.

  I wasn’t sure if the person who told me that story was telling the truth or spinning a tale. That was a common occurrence with the stories floating through these halls. They all sounded so fantastical, but they could also be the absolute truth.

  Arthur and the rest of the other knights were already present. I made my way over to my family seat. I always felt like I was on a runway as I walked toward it. I swear I felt the spotlight on my back. I felt the sparkles falling from the sky. I imagined the flash of a camera and the ahhs of the crowd as all eyes hung on my catwalk to the chair.

  “Anytime now, Dame Galahad,” said Arthur.

  I took my seat. As always, the cushions and backrest molded to my form, letting me know that this seat was meant for me. It was an honor I strove to prove worthy of every day of my life.

  Once I was seated, Arthur ran through the day’s business. It was much like a board meeting. I’d been bummed that we didn’t do a ritual dance or have a sacred song that we all sang or even a secret handshake. Nope. It was all about responsibilities and duties.

  “Percival,” said Arthur, “your reports from the Banduri.”

  “They’ve kept to their word so far,” said Percy. “Apparently they voted to be on the side of good and that includes no killing of witches and wizards. I believe we can trust the new leadership, Thalia. But there are pockets of older Banduri who still look upon us as thieves of the Garden.”

  Arthur shook his head, tipping it back and looking upward. The Banduri priestesses were an ancient problem he didn’t want to deal with in the present. The women had tormented me back in private school, and I’d prefer not to deal with them again myself. But we couldn’t choose our own villains.

  Arthur turned to Gawain to inquire about another ancient foe. “What news of the Templars?”

  “They’ve been quiet of late,” said Gawain. “Which can only mean they’re planning something big if history is to be our guide.”

  The Templars were the Knights’ sworn enemies. They had once been allied, but when the Knight’s Templars came under the rule of the church, the Templars turned on the Knights of Camelot. Much for the same reason as the Banduri. Both groups thought the knights and witches were in league with the devil.

  It was laughable if you spent even an hour with these townsfolk. The witches, wizards, knights, and people of Camelot were a tight-knit family that only looked to keep the dangers of the supernatural world away from themselves and the rest of the world. They had no designs on rulership outside of this small town. They had no care to lead others’ souls toward or away from any particular god. They were all Christians, for God’s sake. Something I still struggled with.

  “We’ll need to strengthen the outposts,” Arthur was saying.

  “The new batch of squires won’t be ready to take on a ley line for at least another year or two.”

  There were different types of knights, I’d learned. There were the Knights of the Roundtable that stayed in Camelot and protected the large population at Castle Tintagel. But there were smaller castles and magical places on the ley lines where a smaller population of witches and wizards lived. Once squires were knighted, they were often sent to these outposts to guard these people. One such place, if you can believe it, was Disneyland.

  “On to other business,” said Arthur. “What more do we know about Baros and the Ring of Gyges?”

  My ears perked up. Finally, we were getting to what I considered the main event of these proceedings. Showtime.

  It was Geraint that spoke up. “All we know is what the ring does. It allows the wearer to become invisible.”

  “Or possibly invincible,” said Lance.

  “The translation is poor,” agreed Arthur. “Do we know if the ring is fae?”

  “Possibly,” shrugged Geraint. “There are stories of such a ring throughout the history books, but not much about Gyges. It’s not clear if he was a shepherd or a king or even a real man. The story was written by Plato.”

  “Oh!” I raised my hand like I was in grade school. All the knights turned and raised quizzical brows at me.

  “You don’t have to raise your hand to speak, my lady,” said Arthur. “If you have something to add, wait your turn and then speak.”

  I lowered my hand. “Is it my turn?” I addressed this to Geraint.

  He rolled his eyes. “No, I wasn’t finished.”

  I glared at him and pursed my lips. But the pinched expression on my face slipped as the chair cushions coddled and caressed my shoulders and back.

  “Plato’s story spoke of a man from Lydia. That was an actual place in Greece. The story says that this man, this Gyges, was a shepherd who came upon a cave. Inside that cave was a tomb of a bronze horse who wore a golden ring. Gyges pocketed the ring and later discovered it made him invisible.”

  “This sounds like Lord of the Rings,” said Percy. “You know when Frodo gets the One Ring.”

  “That wasn’t Frodo,” said Tristan. “It was the uncle, Bilbo.”

  “But Bilbo stole the ring from Golem,” said Geraint.

  “Oh, right,” said Tristan.

  “Hey,” I said. “How come they get to talk out of turn?”

  “As I was saying,” said Geraint, cutting me off again. “Once this Gyges learned what the ring could do, he snuck into the palace, killed the king, and married the queen. Or he seduced the queen, and then killed the king, and took the throne. Whichever the order, all are equally bad.”

  “What happened to the ring?” asked Tristan.

  “No one knows,” said Geraint. “It doesn’t come up again in any of Plato’s stories. But it also doesn’t look like Gyges used it again. Now there are rumors of the ring resurfacing in some competition. It’s tied to Baros’s name as he was asking about it.”

  “But your informant has no idea where Baros is now?” said Arthur.

  Geraint shook his head.

  “Nor do we know who this Gyges, if it’s the same man, is?”

  Geraint turned his palms up showing he had nothing else. All the knights looked around, but no one offered any more commentary. Finally, I raised my hand.

  “Loren,” sighed Arthur, “I’ve already said you don’t have to raise your hand.”

  “I just wanted to make sure it was my turn to speak if no one else has anything else to add.” I looked around the room at the mute men.

  “You’ve already said you don’t know where your lover is,” said Geraint.

  “Ex,” I corrected. “And no, I don’t know where Baros is. But I do know someone else in connection with this Gyges story, and I know where he is.”

  “You know Gyges?” asked Lance.

  “No,” I said. “I know Plato. Well, I don’t know him like that. Nia was good friends with Socrates, and Socrates and Plato were brothers, and I’m Nia’s bestie, so I’m sure that makes us related in some kind of way.”

  The men all looked confused.

  “Anyway, I know where Plato is. If I ask him, I’m sure he’d shed more light on his story. Maybe give us some clues as to who Gyges is and where the ring came from or ended up.”

  “Plato�
��s dead,” said Tristan.

  “Nope,” I said. “He’s very much alive. He’s a Chosen of the Greek Gods.”

  “You think the Olympians will grant you an audience with one of their Chosen?” asked Arthur.

  “Of course,” I said. “I helped to send their psycho dad back to the underworld. We’re all, like, super tight now.”

  Arthur twirled the edge of his beard around his index finger. He pursed his lips as he considered me. It was his thinking face. His decision could go either way. I decided to give a little push in my favor.

  “So, should I get Gwin to hook me up with a ley line transport to Athens?”

  Arthur continued to twirl, and then finally he gave a curt nod. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather. I would’ve sworn I’d have to argue for days. But nope. I got a nod.

  “Go and talk to Plato,” he said. “Gather intel and see where it leads.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  It was going to be my first quest. Well, the first sanctioned quest. I was going to do amazing.

  “But you’re not going alone,” said Arthur.

  My gaze immediately connected with Gawain’s. He gave me a smile of assent. He might not get down with me horizontally, but I knew he wasn’t averse to some vertical action in the field.

  “You’ll take Geraint with you,” said Arthur.

  And just like that, my elation deflated.

  Chapter Six

  Though I didn’t subscribe to romantic love for myself, I couldn’t get enough of the familial love. This brand of love I understood and wrapped around me like a fur coat in a snowstorm. I loved my new family. Like for reals. My heart would swell when the kids came up to me chanting Lady Lo and asking me to teach them something that would tick their parents off. When their parents inevitably witnessed their kids’ new inappropriate habit and discovered whom the children got it from, they did, in fact, get ticked off at me. But it would only be fleeting. Then they’d laugh and hug me to them like I was one of their own.