But he couldn’t move.
Not a muscle. Only his eyelids blinked, staring through the gauzy coverlet. Slowly, as she moved over him, Hera’s face came into view.
“You know, I haven’t liked you ever since you slew Argus as he was watching over Io— that silly girl Zeus was carrying on with and turned into a cow.”
“Yes,” Hermes replied softly. “I’ve sensed a distance between us. Terribly sorry about that. So, what can I do for you?”
“You disappeared yesterday,” she said softly. “You and those four brats. You disappeared from Mount Pelion right under my very eyes. And you didn’t even bother to say good-bye. So what do I do? I search high and low for you all and I find nothing. Then, you just pop back into view on Mount Ida of all places! Poof! I am thrilled to see that Pandora and company are not in very good shape— my, my, blindness, bones knitted together badly . . . lovely, really. But I want to know what happened.”
Hermes tried to struggle, but the filmy coverlet was pinning him to the pallet.
“Know what this is?” Hera asked sweetly.
“No, Hera. Why don’t you clue me in,” he replied, although he had a pretty good idea of exactly what it was.
“This is the adamant net Hephaestus created when he thought Aphrodite just might be having a fling or two . . . or twenty . . . with Ares. This is the one he surprised them with, throwing it over and trapping them for all the gods to see, all of us bearing witness to Aphrodite’s . . . shall we say . . . indiscretion? And you know if it held Ares, it’s certainly going to hold you . . . runt.”
“Won’t Hephaestus miss it?”
“As if I give two acolytes what that idiot thinks or does.”
“Well, it’s a lovely gift. Thanks. But I don’t really need it.”
“Oh, but it’s my plea sure.”
“Why me?” Hermes asked.
“I want to know what the five of you have been up to for the last day and a half.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Oh, did I forget to tell you about the new special feature I added? If you don’t tell me what that conniving maiden and her three friends are doing on Mount Ida and what they have planned, then . . .”
The adamant coverlet tightened around Hermes’ throat, all but cutting off his breathing.
Just then, on the enormous map in front of them, Mount Ida began to glow, and Pandy’s voice could be heard in the room.
“Swift and Fleet-footed Messenger. Most cunning and artful, I call to Hermes!”
“Ohhhh. She needs you, isn’t that sweet?” Hera smirked.
“Hermes? We’ve decided! We know where we need to go now.”
Hera relaxed the coverlet around his throat.
“And you are going to tell me exactly where that is,” she purred.
“When Apollo pulls the sun backward, that’s when I’ll tell you anything, you wretched—”
The coverlet cinched his throat again, cutting off all air and turning his face purple.
“You know, I had a feeling that you would remain uncooperative to the last. Let’s see if this will persuade you.”
Instantly there appeared, at the foot of the pallet, a golden sacrificial tripod. Hermes immediately recognized it as being one of Apollo’s prized possessions. The God of Truth used it frequently, burning a mysterious blend of herbs in the bowl, to discern the truth of a particularly perplexing matter or to increase his powers of prophecy. Without even so much as a glance in its direction, Hera flung her hand out toward the bowl and at once a thin ribbon of smoke began to rise from the center. Summoning the smoke with her forefinger, Hera floated the ribbon up over Hermes’ body, where it hung . . . waiting.
“Yeah, a little smoke . . . big deal,” he wheezed. “You forget, cow, that while I may be forced to tell you a truth, I am just cunning enough not to tell you the entire truth.”
“I thought that might be your attitude . . . or something equally antagonistic. You think I’m not prepared? Tell me, errand boy, what else designates the gifts of prophecy and truth telling?”
Hermes’ eyes went wide.
“No,” he muttered.
“I’ve seen you around them . . .”
“Not that.”
“. . . When Dionysus would accidentally bring them up from a forest revel, one sticking out of his toga, another in his hair. Or when you helped Perseus slay Medusa. Oh, weren’t you trying so hard to act very casual, very collected. Not at all afraid. You may have been able to fool the others . . . not me.”
“Don’t . . . please,” Hermes pleaded.
“Too late.”
With that, the thin ribbon of sacrificial smoke floated toward Hermes, streaming through the tiny holes in the adamant and becoming two long, thin black snakes, which slithered into Hermes’ nostrils, down his throat, and into his stomach as the Messenger God writhed in pain and panic.
“All right, then,” Hera said, watching the two tails disappear. “Now, where is Pandora going, and what is she going to do once she gets wherever that is?”
Completely at the mercy of the snakes, created from Apollo’s own prophetic smoke, and which were starting to lick the inside of his stomach, Hermes told everything that he knew: the wedding, the judgment, Lust in the golden apple, and the group’s journey (hopefully, if they chose the correct coin) to Aphrodisias and Aphrodite’s partially built temple to beg the apple from her.
“Thank you,” Hera said when he finished. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Very good . . . and I’m off!”
“Hera,” Hermes pleaded. “The snakes . . . remove them, I beg of you!”
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” she scoffed. “You’ll get rid of them—eventually. Now, sleep!”
She snapped her fingers and Hermes went out.
“And when you wake in, oh, let’s give it ten tiny ticks on the sundial, you will remember none of this . . . only that you have slumbered peacefully,” she cooed over him as she folded the large adamant net.
Striding across the floor that showed the Britannia coastline in the early afternoon, Hera, without a backward glance, kicked a rooster that accidentally crossed her path and left the room.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Aphrodisias
“Are you feeling anything?” Iole asked Pandy.
“Nothing,” she replied, rolling the Eye of Horus around in her fingers as it hung about her neck. She extended her left arm at its new crooked angle. “Not a thing. You were right, Iole—it doesn’t fix immortal enchantments.”
“You mean curses,” Alcie muttered.
“Okay, this is nuts. I’m tired of waiting,” Pandy said, brushing the dirt and grass from her knees and legs. “He’s not coming and we have to get going.”
“I’m asking you,” Iole said, “why do you think he would just leave us? He inasmuch as said that he would be back.”
“Then where is he, Iole?” Pandy asked. The three girls sat on the grass as Homer paced back and forth. Pandy looked at Iole.
“I’ve formally called him. I used official and reverential words. Then I got less reverential and a little cutesy. I even brought my dad into it, saying he probably wouldn’t appreciate it if his best friend left his daughter on a mountain. And nothing.”
“Maybe he just wants you to say, ‘Hey, you with the silly hat!’ Try again,” Alcie said.
Pandy sighed.
“Swift Messenger, I call to you. Please Hermes . . . blah, blah, blah.”
“What’s with the blah, blah?” came Hermes’ voice from behind them.
Pandy was so startled that she turned too sharply and knocked Alcie over into the grass.
“Thank you!” Alcie cried, facedown.
“There you are!” Pandy said, rising. “I mean, I . . . didn’t you hear me?”
“Just now, yes. Which is, of course, why I’m here.”
“But not before?” Pandy went on.
“Heard you? Calling? No . . . don’t think so. I suppose Morpheus must have sent me some t
antalizing dreams and I was just too wrapped up. But, here now, rested and refreshed. All is well. So, have you decided?”
“We have to go to Aphrodisias,” Pandy said, handing him the coin.
“Indeed you do,” Hermes said, palming it and flipping it into the air, where the coin vanished. “Nicely done, group.”
Suddenly, Hermes gripped his stomach, bending at the waist.
“Ooh!”
“What’s that?” Alcie said, turning toward the sound.
“Hermes?” Pandy asked, taking a step forward. She realized that she had never seen any of the gods vulnerable, physically distressed, or compromised in any way. It was a bit alarming.
“Nothing . . . nothing,” Hermes said after a second. “Have no idea what that was . . . probably just a bit of spoiled ambrosia or rancid nectar. Maybe one of those eggs we fried up this morning, eh, Iole?”
Iole just stared.
“At any rate, all gone now,” Hermes said. “As are we. Take hold of my garment one last time, if you please.”
As they all once again touched the silvery cloth, Hermes straightened.
“Don’t blink.”
Before any of them could think, the landscape shimmered, then began to speed past, and then they were thrown into pitch-black for several seconds. Almost immediately, with another shimmer that quickly slowed and stopped, the light returned and the world came back into focus.
The meadow and sheep were gone. Before them lay a wide road and brown, scrabble-hard hills on either side. Trees and a few travelers in the distance indicated the direction of the city.
“That was a rush,” Homer said.
“Are we there?” Alcie said.
“You are,” Hermes replied.
“Is that what happens when immortals disappear!” Iole asked rhetorically.
“No,” Hermes answered. “We don’t experience the darkness. We can see and comprehend the entire journey across any terrain. But it would be too much for your minds to grasp. So I put out the lights.”
“How far away are we from Aphrodisia?” Pandy asked.
“A little under five kilometers. A nice walk; you’ll be there in plenty of time for evening meal.”
“Time,” Pandy said. “We lost another fourteen days.”
“A full fourteen days. You are currently in your 76th day. Now, I am going to give you a piece of advice. Normally I would tell you not to visit Aphrodite’s temple after sunset; she’s not a night person, likes to sleep early and her temple priestesses rarely summon her after dark. However, this particular temple is still under construction and as such there won’t be much in the way of guards or activity after dark. I’d go then. There aren’t any priestesses on staff yet, no one to intercede on your behalf . . . but Aphrodite knows you, and she’ll still be keeping an eye on the building.”
“Thank you,” Pandy said.
“Not to worry,” Hermes said, then he grabbed his stomach again. “Ares’ blood . . . this is . . . unusual, to say the least. I may have to go see Apollo. It’s nice having a doctor in the family. Oh!”
He doubled over in pain.
“Can we help?” Pandy said impulsively.
“You . . . help?” Hermes smiled and grimaced at the same time. “You’re cute.”
He disappeared.
“All right,” Pandy said, gazing down the road. “Let’s go.”
Homer braced Alcie against him as Pandy took her other side. Homer’s left arm was free and ready; he looked around.
“Where’s Iole?”
“Right here!” she said, dragging herself off the side of the road. She was leaning on a rough, freshly severed tree branch.
“Walking stick,” she said, linking her right arm into Homer’s. “Ready.”
The four of them began the slow trek toward Aphrodisia.
“Gods,” Alcie said. “I can’t even see us and I know we’re a pitiful sight.”
“Less talk,” Pandy said, hugging her, “more walk.”
A little less than four hours later, as they slowly approached the city proper from the north, Iole was just wrapping up her history of Aphrodisias—a tale that had begun with the Bronze Age.
“. . . and because of the marble quarry close by, they established a school of sculpture, and Aphrodisian sculptors are world famous. My father is a collector; we have several portrait busts. Now, there’s an agora which lies between the temple and the acropolis . . . which is nothing like ours back in Athens, by the way. Not so large or important. And there’s a wonderful theater and probably the best stadium for athletics outside of Greece.”
“Tell her to stop,” Alcie whispered to Pandy.
“Shhhh,” Pandy said.
“I’m going to kick someone’s legs . . . hard!”
“We need to know this,” Pandy replied. “I think.”
“When my ears start bleeding, you will be responsible,” Alcie said.
“Now, the city took the name Aphrodisias only a comparatively short time ago. Before that, there seems to have been a smaller temple here dedicated to some sort of Mother Goddess of fertility. Apparently, when Aphrodite heard of this she did a little housecleaning, got rid of the other goddess, and now there’s a whole cult dedicated to her. Although, for some reason, they dress her differently in statues than we do back in Greece. And she’s a little more . . . square shaped. Boxy, if you will . . . not as curvy and not quite as . . .”
“Naked?” said Homer.
Alcie stopped in her tracks and just stared in the direction of Homer’s voice.
“What?” he said, getting her moving again as Iole went on.
“According to reports, the temple is quite something. Over forty columns.”
Then there was silence.
“And?” asked Pandy.
“And what? That’s it,” Iole replied.
“Sweet nectarines! I was actually praying to go deaf, too!” Alcie cried.
“Quiet, Alce, we’re almost to the city. And I think,” Pandy said, looking ahead, “that’s the temple just over there.”
“That’s it,” Iole said. “Matches the description.”
“Impressive,” said Homer.
“Describe it to me,” Alcie pleaded. “Hang on a sec,” Pandy said, looking at the sun sinking in the west. “We have a bit of daylight left, but I’m starving. Let’s find someplace to get a good meal. I am just not interested in dried fruit and flatbread right now and we have tip money enough to buy us a feast. I’ll tell you everything I can about the temple over evening meal, okay, Alce?”
“Deal,” she answered.
“I’ll tell you everything I know, too,” Iole said.
Alcie slumped.
“Kill me now.”
The sun had just sunk below the horizon and still the main marketplace was crowded, but not only with shoppers. Many groups of men and women, divided by gender, massed in the middle of the agora. Almost immediately, Pandy felt as if she were under a spell. The air was heavy with incense that smoked out of burners hanging underneath the long porticos. Groups of musicians played continuously as perfumes and aromatic oils wafted out of almost every shop, no matter what was actually being sold. Often, as Homer shepherded the girls through the throng, a man would leave his group and join a group of women, and a woman would do the reverse. Several times, Pandy’s face or arm was grazed by the lightest touch of a silk scarf or her ears caught the sound of tiny bells on a woman’s earrings. Everybody was very attractive and all were rather liberal in their physical contact.
“Is this a dream?” Iole whispered.
“If it is, then we’re all having the same one,” Pandy replied.
Passing close by a building, Pandy became fascinated by the many beautifully sculpted faces set into the side. She noticed that this was commonplace on almost all of the buildings, and she also noticed the overwhelming number of statues of Aphrodite . . . but not the Aphrodite Pandy knew. Not the voluptuous vision. Not the one who had broken her arm. These statues showed the goddess
well covered in matronly clothing, her feet unusually close to each other and, in every case, her arms were outstretched as if she were constantly giving . . . something. On her head was sculpted a crown, but about her neck, the citizens of Aphrodisias had placed dozens and dozens of necklaces on each statue. Pandy tried to focus, tried to recognize the immortal figures in bas-relief on the overtunic of each statue, but she was suddenly overcome by the music and a desire to dance. Looking at Alcie, she saw that Alcie, too, was moving in time with the music, feeling the overriding rhythm of the marketplace. Pandy grabbed Iole’s hands and the two spun in a circle. Unresisting, Iole started to laugh as the smells and sounds, the heady atmosphere, took over. Homer was trying to stay mindful of their purpose and goal, but he felt his body involuntarily relax a bit. That’s when he spied a dark-haired youth making his way toward Pandy and Iole, shaking a tambour in one hand. Swiftly, Homer stepped into the young man’s path and, with a glare that said “back off,” began moving the girls through the crowd, which was starting to become a bit unruly.
After Homer asked directions, they were pointed to a small, fairly crowded tavern named the Singing Artichoke at the far end of the agora. Homer settled Alcie onto a chair at a tiny table for four. A serving girl approached and began to hand out sheets of papyrus stretched over thick boards. On them, in a strange but perfectly readable language, was written the names of all sorts of delicious items that could be ordered for the evening meal: lentils cooked in saffron, bitter bulb salad with honey and sesame seeds, fried leeks with garlic, flatbread with truffle paste, and (“New item!” the menu read) chocolate cake with mint.
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