by Raye Wagner
Phoibe started walking again; she wanted to get to Priska’s– wanted to get away from him.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” She was irritated, but her feelings turned into confusion when she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. The longing returned, and her pace slowed.
“Persuade. Aren’t all conversations meant to persuade?”
Phoibe closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then with her eyes still closed she asked, “What do you want from me?”
“Phoibe.” His voice called her.
“Apollo.” She said his name through clenched teeth. “What do you want from me?”
“Why, I just want to be your friend.” In his words, his tone, the pull was gone.
She knew she hadn’t imagined it. “Well, don’t do that…” her arms waved, “anymore. It was disturbing me.” She looked at him warily.
His smile was warm, friendly, inviting. “Well,” he laughed, “the last thing I want to do is disturb you. Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Any chance I can induce you to come for a walk?”
“No.”
“Really? I won’t harm you.” His laugh reminded her of summer.
“Not today. I have this,” she held up the bag, “and I need to get back.”
“Oh, Phoibe. Wouldn’t you rather be entertained than dyeing thread? I would be happy to… entertain you.”
“No, thank you.”
“All right then.” He stood up straight, but the look he gave her was the same as a child being denied a treat. “I’ll come find you at a more convenient time.”
She looked at him with doubt, “How will you know?”
He smiled at her, and then he was gone.
“I hate that…” She looked up at the sky, and left her sentence unfinished.
The next morning Phoibe woke knowing that the day would be spent indoors. She had to finish dyeing the wool Priska had spun over the past week. There were several wealthy families that paid very well to have Priska’s cloth, and the orders were due.
“Phoibe?” Priska’s voice could be heard from the other room.
“Yes, Priska, I’ll be in there in a minute.” Phoibe should have already started.
“When did you get this all done?”
Phoibe walked into their work room and looked around in surprise. The thread was dyed. Done. All of it. What should have taken days was completed.
“What happened? How?” Phoibe looked to Priska as if she could explain.
“I didn’t do this, Phoibe. If you didn’t do this…” She left it hanging.
“Apollo,” Phoibe whispered.
“What? You saw Apollo again?” Priska pulled Phoibe into the living area and forced her to sit. “When did that happen?”
Phoibe was dazed by the amount of work that was completed in the other room.
“Phoibe!”
She looked up into the eyes of Priska and briefly told of the encounter the day before.
Priska shook her head while Phoibe spoke.
When Phoibe finished Priska sat staring at her; her gaze was relentless.
Uncomfortable, Phoibe squirmed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Be careful, child.”
“You keep saying that.” Phoibe’s frustration bubbled out of her. She had wanted to talk with Priska about what had happened and the power of the gods, but Priska’s warning, the same as before, made her feel defensive.
With the wool thread dyed both women sat down at their looms. The silence was uncomfortable at first, but, within a couple of hours both had settled into a rhythm, the tension dissipated with the clicking of the looms.
“Priska? Do gods have special powers?” Even as she said it she knew the answer.
“Of course. What are you referring to?”
“Nothing, never mind.” Phoibe suddenly didn’t want to talk about it; she felt naïve, ridiculous.
“Phoibe, the god’s have many powers; some can control weather, water, the harvest, and all can help mortals when they want. All of them have powers over mortals.” Priska stopped weaving and leveled a hard look at Phoibe. “We should have had this talk long ago.” She shook her head. “You know of your parentage, and so you know you are a demigod. Because of this, you are immortal. Nothing mortal can take your life. Not sickness, an accident, a weapon, poison. None of it.”
“Are you saying I’ll live forever?”
Nodding, Priska said, “You could.” But there was something in her voice that told Phoibe there was more.
“But?”
“But, it doesn’t happen very often. There are immortal things that can harm you, immortal things that can kill you.”
“Like what?”
“Other immortals have immortal weapons. The gods have all kinds of immortal powers. There are immortal monsters. There are lists of things.”
“Is that why you don’t want me to be friends with Apollo?”
“Are you friends?”
“No, but he said he wanted to be.”
“Phoibe, I’m not going to tell you what to do. I just want you to think through what the consequences of your choices might be.”
“Do you think he would kill me?”
“I don’t know Apollo. I don’t know what he’s capable of. But my initial guess is he’s not trying to kill you or you’d already be dead.”
“So what do you think he wants?”
Priska’s looms started shuttering again, and there was a brief pause before she spoke. “I can only guess Phoibe, so I would again tell you to be careful.”
Phoibe nodded in understanding. She returned to her work, and her thoughts.
~ προχωρήσουμε ~
The letters from Isaak came in spurts. Phoibe would read and reread them, usually committing them to memory. She always replied promptly, and wrote at least as often as he did. They got to know more about each other through their letters, about each other’s values, temperament, and humor. At times, she thought much about the young man, but work was keeping him busy, and the letters became fewer…
~ προχωρήσουμε ~
It was just over a week since Phoibe had talked with Priska about the powers of the gods. Phoibe had delivered dyed cloth to one of the judges, and her thoughts were on Apollo. If he were responsible for the wool being dyed, to make time for her, why had he not made an appearance? She had started going for long walks, bored with her routine, hoping for something to break the monotony.
She was wandering in the fields behind Priska’s home. She bent down to pick some wildflowers, and when she stood up Apollo was there.
“So, my Phoibe, do you have time for a walk today?” His eyes lazily grazed over her.
“Um, sure,” she shrugged, self-conscious of her disheveled appearance. She continued her amble and noticed the god kept pace, but despite the furtive glances, he was silent as they walked.
“You’re quiet today,” she observed, uneasy with the silence.
“Yes, I have much on my mind. Which is no excuse for not being attentive to you. I’m sorry Phoibe. What have you been up to?”
“Not much. We’ve been weaving cloth with the threads that you dyed. We were hoping to have visitors from town, but it seems they are not to come.” She couldn’t help the forlorn note that crept into her voice. Isaak had written that he thought he would be visiting that week, but the time appointed had come, and two days had passed without any word.
“Are you lonely?” He stopped walking to look at her, to measure her response.
“No,” she sighed, and then laughed at her own dishonesty. Her smile was rueful as she continued, “Well, sometimes I am. Priska is a great friend and mentor, but sometimes she seems to withdraw into he
rself, and then…” she left it hanging.
“One as old as Priska has many memories.” Apollo extended his arm, which Phoibe took and the two started walking again. “Perhaps she forgets what it is like to be young.”
“Maybe. I wonder if I’ll do that when I’m her age,” she mused.
Apollo laughed. “When you’re her age? Do you know how old Priska is?”
“No,” Phoibe shook her head. “But, she can’t be more than 60 or so.” She looked up at the god, noticing his golden, almost leonine coloring and grace, and then remembered his immortality.
He laughed again. “This would not be the first or second, or even third time she would be 60.”
“Really?” But looking at the god, she suddenly didn’t have such a hard time believing in immortality, perhaps everyone was immortal.
“Really.” He winked at her. “But don’t tell her I said anything; I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to know.”
Pinching her lips together, she nodded. “I won’t say a word.”
“Of course not, you angel.” He placed his free hand atop hers briefly. “So, why don’t you tell me why you’re off wandering alone? And sad? On a beautiful day like this?”
She smiled up at him. “I’m not alone. And, I’m not sad.”
“That, sweet girl, is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
The emotional warmth that radiated from Apollo was hard to resist, and Phoibe had been feeling empty. Even so, she wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Apollo was trying to be charming.
“I doubt that.” She nudged him in the side. “I’m sure you get all kinds of flattery.”
He looked at her quizzically and then smiled. “Flattery? Yes. But flattery is not sincere, so it means little.”
“I can only imagine how tedious that must get.”
“Now, I doubt that. I’m sure you don’t get much flattery living with Priska.”
“No, she’s not really one for vanity.” Suddenly feeling guilty of speaking ill of her, Phoibe continued, “but she’s like family, and I love her.”
“Of course you do. And it really just adds to your goodness.”
Phoibe snorted. “PLEASE! If you don’t stop, my head will be so big I’ll float away. Can you imagine the reality check from Priska? I’ll come crashing back to the earth.”
“I would never let you crash.” His gaze was intense, and then he released her. Glancing up at the sun, he said “I’m so sorry, Phoibe, but I must go.”
“Of course.” She nodded, somewhat relieved.
“May I call on you again?” His smile was warm, friendly, the previous intensity gone.
Phoibe wondered if she had imagined it. She only thought about the invitation fleetingly. “Yes, Apollo. That would be nice.”
His fingertips tilted her chin up; his thumb brushed her skin.
Her breath caught, and she closed her eyes. There was a bright flash of light, and then she could sense the dimness. When Phoibe opened her eyes, she was standing alone. She looked around to get her bearings, and realized she now had a long walk back home, this time alone. Gauging by the sun, Phoibe knew she needed to hurry. Priska would be wondering where she had gone. With a “harrumph” she began the walk.
CHAPTER IV
When Phoibe came into the courtyard she could hear the voices. Priska’s she knew like her own, but the deeper tenor took a moment to register. Suddenly she was running, forgetting her past disappointment, her long walk, even her visit from Apollo.
“Isaak!” She was through the door and had almost thrown herself at him, when she remembered Priska. She drew up just short of him. “Good evening, Isaak.” Her voice was all forced control. Her eyes drank him in. She noticed the etched worry lines around his eyes, as well as the tale-tell signs of fatigue.
“Phoibe.” He smiled.
But she heard sadness, and she looked from Isaak to Priska as if for an explanation.
“Isaak was kind enough to stop by for a visit. We have been wondering where you were these last two hours.” Priska’s gaze was slightly amused.
Phoibe felt a pang of guilt. Looking downward, she apologized. “I wandered off, much further than I had intended.”
“No one’s mad, child.” It was Priska.
“Are you tired, Phoibe?” Isaak’s voice drew her focus. “Would you care to amble with me for a few minutes?”
“Of course!” Phoibe then looked at Priska, “If that’s okay with you.”
“Go, you two. But, mind where you are seen.”
Phoibe knew the rules of society. Isaak wasn’t the only male that had made the mistake of assuming Phoibe was a courtesan after being seen so often in public. In truth, many had sought Priska to inquire after the young lady, certainly of marriageable age, but single and out in society. It had caused Priska some inconvenience, and a little discomfiture. Things had settled down, and she had no desire to have to relive the experience. Phoibe understood all of this with her warning.
“Yes, Priska.”
The two walked outside and around to the back of Priska’s home. The distance between them was slight, but it felt like a gap Phoibe couldn’t close. They went past the garden in silence, and into the small orchard.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.” His voice sounded weary.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s really not okay.” He stopped and looked at her.
She couldn’t meet the intensity of his gaze and dropped her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I…I was delayed. Some work came up that had to be attended to, and it fell to me. I underestimated the amount of time it would take, and now…” he shrugged.
“Is everything okay?” Wanting to comfort him, she reached out to take his hand.
He looked almost surprised with the contact. “I hardly know.” The bewilderment was clear on his face.
“I don’t understand.”
“I…I was worried, when I showed up that maybe…maybe you had disappeared on purpose. That perhaps you were angry with me, or that the last letter had been too much.”
Phoibe blushed, but did not withdraw her hand. She remembered the letter. It was all tenderness, the usual humor lost in the intensity of his work, but he had suffused the writing with his thoughts of her.
“Isaak Pallas, what are you saying? Did you think I had stopped caring?” The idea was ridiculous. All she had wanted since that first meeting was to be with him. She had been despondent because he hadn’t come. How bizarre that he might have felt the same?
“I always knew you were too good for me. I wouldn’t be surprised, if…” he shook his head, and then looked her in the eyes.
She studied his features. His dark curly hair had grown in the time since she had seen him. His complexion was sallow with too much time indoors. But the intensity of his eyes was the same. She laughed.
“I’m too good for you? Are you teasing me again?” She put her hand forward as though to poke him, but he caught her hand in his and pulled her to him.
“I will tease you about many things, but never about your value to me.” He brushed her hair away from her face, the thick curls falling over her shoulders.
She looked up at him, held by the intensity of the moment, both stood silently, waiting the other’s movement. Reluctantly, Phoibe stepped back, and Isaak sighed.
“So, my nymph,” Isaak’s voice became light, “what have you been up to these last few days while awaiting my arrival?” He held her hand, and they began to walk.
“Not much, really.” She shrugged. “A lot of weaving, grinding, you know, same old, same old here.” She had intended to tell Isaak all about her meeting with Apollo, write him that very night. However, now that he was there, she felt reticent.
“Yes, well, I’l
l take bored with Priska over anxious in the temple of the Horae, any day.”
“The Horae?” She felt nervous.
“Yes.” He sighed again. “Eunomia, I’m sure you know, is the goddess of law.”
Phoibe nodded.
“We’ve been working so hard on setting up treaties. I believe that if we can get some semblance of equality among the people, these attempts to seize power at the expense of the majority would cease. It isn’t right, the oppression of so many…and for what?”
“Do you think it will work?”
“I don’t know, my dear, but I have to hope so, or why am I spending this time away from you?” He bumped ever so lightly into her.
“Well, I can’t imagine anyone not listening to what you have to say.”
“If all they do is listen, it will not be enough. But politics is not such a fun topic of discussion now is it? Let me tell you of an unnerving experience of a colleague of mine. It will make you laugh.” He proceeded to delight her with stories of nonsense and fun, till the laughing had given them both side aches.
“Isaak?”
“Hmmm?”
“Isaak. I don’t want you to treat me as though I’m not smart enough to understand what you do.”
“What?”
“If you take the time to explain something to me, I’m bright enough; I can follow.”
“Is that what you think? Oh, Phoibe.” She could hear the apology in his voice. “I know you are bright, my own shining star. It has nothing to do with you. I don’t like to talk about work. I practice law because I’m good at it, and I hope to make a difference. But what I love… I love to hear you laugh.”
“Yes, but sometimes life makes it hard.” She thought aberrantly of her father.
“Yes, it does,” he sighed. “It is getting late. I’ll walk you home.”
The silence that accompanied them was companionable, each of them absorbed in their own thoughts, but never far from each other.
The next few days were bliss. Isaak came early and stayed late. Priska watched the relationship carefully, but said little.