“I am at my wit’s end,” Zeus said, running his hand through his hair and then scrubbing at his face as if he could wash away the tiredness in it. “Listen to me. If you will send a message by Hermes and say you desire Persephone to yield to her mother, I will give you Aglaia and the most promising of the young priestesses, among whom you are sure to find one who will be strong enough to bring fertility to Plutos—and any other woman or ten women or fifty in Olympus that you desire to warm your bed, or any native woman.”
Hades laughed aloud. “I am not like you, brother. I cannot exchange women as I do my clothing. For me there is only one woman, now and forever, and that is Persephone.”
“Hades, be reasonable. We will live through this winter, but the next there will be hunger and I cannot swear what the other great mages will do—” Rage flashed in his eyes. “Nor would I try to stop them. They are not bound by my agreement with you not to meddle in Plutos.”
“It is very difficult to frighten the dead, or to win any struggle against them,” Hades said flatly, then he sighed. “But I do not desire any harm to Olympus. You know that. Only there is nothing I can do about Persephone, even if I were willing—which I am not. She is not the girl you knew or her mother knew. She is changed. There is something in her over which I have no control. But you need not starve. You say some of the younger priestesses are promising. I suspect Demeter did all she could to suppress their abilities because she would endure no rivals to her daughter. Let them be encouraged. In a few years—
“We do not have a few years.” Zeus’s voice grated. “Olympus lives by the magic that brings abundance from soil and space that should not feed a tenth the people and herds we have. I told you. Next year we will need to slaughter our herds. The year after that we will starve—or fight.”
“If you fight the dead, you will only join them.” Hades’s black eyes met his brother’s bleakly, but then his lips twitched, and he added, “Frankly I do not desire your turbulent mages in my realm.” He was silent a moment, so obviously thinking hard that Zeus did not speak. Finally he said slowly, “I do not like to make promises I cannot keep, so I will not promise. But if I can get Persephone back, I believe she would be willing to bless your fields and quicken your seed for this coming year.” He smiled grimly. “No, do not even think about keeping her. I will be with her.”
“You are asking us to live from year to year on your charity.”
“No. I am telling you that I hope to be able to provide one more year’s grace in which you—and I, if I can help—will find a different solution to your problem. You cannot have Persephone. That is an absolute.” Suddenly Hades burst out laughing. “Believe me, you would not want her if you had her. You think Demeter is trouble, but you have not yet known an unwilling or angry Persephone.”
Zeus had listened closely to Hermes’s description of Hades’s relationship with his wife, and he looked at Hades sidelong under his lashes. “Is it love…or fear…that binds you to her?” he asked slyly.
Hades laughed again, easily, with true amusement at Zeus’s attempt to prick his pride. Zeus did not understand the word “respect” as related to women. He knew only fear, as he feared the Mother and—when she had reached a certain level of rage—Hera, and a kind of indulgent contempt. Hades knew what existed between himself and Persephone would be incomprehensible to his brother.
“I would call it equal portions of lust and terror,” he replied, smiling. “But Persephone is not your problem; she is mine. If I can get her back in time and she is willing to bring the Goddess’s blessing to your crops, she may also be willing to see what she can do about awakening power in your younger priestesses. If they support Aglaia you should be safe. Or, once she is truly convinced she cannot break Persephone to her will, Demeter may return.”
“I cannot say I like any of the choices,” Zeus said, his mouth pursed as if he had tasted something sour. “Well, in the future I will leave the priestesses and all the avatars of the Mother to their own devices.” He shuddered slightly. “Dorkas is dead. She was found lying before the altar.” Then he frowned, rubbed his face again, and asked—as if he were truly awake at last, “Why did you appear here in the middle of the night?”
“I had a message from Persephone, and I am sorry to say, dear brother, I thought you had sent it to beguile me into patience.”
“A message? But Hermes has not—
“It did not come through Hermes but through one of those places where the dead may speak to the living.”
“The message said I had K—er—Queen Persephone?”
“You are half asleep still,” Hades said, smiling. “That would scarcely beguile me into patience. No, it said “The sacrifice was not made to Zeus and that if I had patience it would return to me of itself. That kind of vague promise…forgive me, brother, but it is in your style.”
Zeus did not bother to deny it, merely shook his head, and Hades went on, “What made me suspicious was that Persephone did not say where she was so I could come for her. Now I see that she must have believed I knew already. Hermes had told us that Demeter had a temple in Eleusis, and the woman who brought the message carried it to the cave near Eleusis.”
“Eleusis? But—” Zeus began.
Hades interrupted, adding, “I know she does not want me to interfere yet, but I cannot see any purpose in waiting longer. If Persephone has not been able to convince Demeter to keep her word to you in three moons, she will not succeed in time for the spring planting—which may be what Demeter intends, that both Olympus and Plutos be belly-pinched. But I think my presence might be more effective in convincing Demeter than anything Persephone says, so I will go to Eleusis and bring my influence to bear.”
“But they are not at Eleusis,” Zeus said. “I thought that was why you came to accuse me, because you had discovered they were not there and thought I had snatched them from Eleusis. Demeter may be mad, but she is clever. She is on Aegina, under the protection of Poseidon.”
“Poseidon?” Hades breathed, his pallid skin taking on a sickly greenish hue. He fumbled for a chair and sank into it.
“So you know,” Zeus said grimly. “I always wondered whether you realized how much he hated you.”
Hades said nothing, staring down at his hands, clasped so hard that the knuckles showed white.
“Oh, you are an honorable man,” Zeus remarked, his lips twisted into a bitter grimace. “Did you think I did not know that he had asked you to join with him to overthrow me just after we had deposed Kronos, and that you refused him?”
“You are both my brothers,” Hades said quietly. “I was a long time alone in the caves. I value Poseidon even if he hates me. I understand how fear can breed hatred. It is sad for him that he never outgrew either the one or the other.”
“Well, he did not, and he does hate you—and fear you. Knowing that, what will you do?” Zeus’s clenched fist smacked into his free hand. “If I can help, I will, but I do not see what I can do. I do not think Hermes would be willing to try to bring Persephone back without Demeter’s approval, and—
Hades stood up. “I need to think,” he said. “If there is any way you can help me, I will let you know.” He found a very faint smile. “At a more reasonable hour of the day.”
In fact, he was saying the right things out of a kind of instinct for dealing with Zeus. Actually, his mind was nearly blank, as it had been since he heard that Persephone was in Poseidon’s power. When he became aware of his surroundings again, he was almost back to his chamber. He did not have the slightest memory of leaving Olympus or how he reached the passage along which he was striding. Then he realized his instinctive responses to Zeus’s question about what he would do had been totally misleading. He did not need to think, because his mind was already made up. He would go to Aegina and bring Persephone home. After that, if she wished, they could renew bargaining with Demeter, but first he would free his wife.
Did he want help from Zeus or Hermes? Hades thrust aside the curtain that separate
d his small living space from the passage, stood staring blankly for a moment, and then sat down on his bed. He found he was shaking his head. He would not ask Zeus for help. If they could have acted within the few moments following their conversation, Zeus would have done whatever he could. However, once his brother had time for second thoughts, Hades was less sure Zeus would not try to keep his peace with Poseidon…somehow.
Hermes. Hades bit his lip gently. He was so eager to get to Persephone that he was sorely tempted to ask the young mage for a spell to carry him to Aegina. He was half standing before he quelled the temptation. Hermes could only sell a spell that went from one specific place to another and back, and he had to know the place. Probably that meant Poseidon’s throne room, which would scarcely be safe or secret. Even in the dead of night there would probably be guards; Poseidon was not a trusting soul. Wandering around his palace without the faintest idea of where Persephone might be was a recipe for certain disaster.
There was also the chance that Persephone was not lodged—or imprisoned—in Poseidon’s palace. In that case, Hades thought bitterly, he would not only need to get safely out of the palace, find her and rescue her, but get back into the palace and into the throne room to use the spell to return. He laughed softly. He did not lack confidence in himself, but he knew what would take a special miracle from the Mother and what he could manage with his own strength, skill, and Gift. Worse, if he were caught, every chance of rescuing Persephone would be ended. He did not think Poseidon would kill him outright, but he might try to keep him prisoner—a wooden ship in the ocean would be quite effective—and in any case Persephone would be too well guarded once Poseidon knew he was trying to recover her to make a second attempt practical.
Hades gnawed on his lip a little harder. That last thought was very troubling and virtually made help from Hermes out of the question. There was no way Hades knew to control the mischievous young mage.
Possibly Hermes could carry Hades to some place on Aegina outside the palace, but what then? Hermes would not be willing to stay for however long it took Hades to find Persephone and win her freedom by whatever method was necessary just to carry them back to Plutos. Not that he would want Hermes on Aegina. Mother alone knew what that young devil would be doing to keep himself amused.
That would mean Hermes would be loose in the world knowing he was on Aegina. Hades shook his head. Even if Hermes did not betray his presence to Poseidon purely for amusement, the young mage was very likely to tell the tale in Olympus. Hermes was an inveterate gossip and would be indifferent to the chance of the news getting back to Poseidon. And there were those who passed news of whatever was happening in Olympus to the sea king.
Hades did not blame Poseidon for buying information. There were as many, or more, who whispered news into the black tunnels behind the slave cave in the hopes of later finding worked gold or gems—a reasonably common reward. The sea king paid in pearls and nacre, and his creatures carried the news back to him through river and sea as quickly as the dead carried it through the underworld passages. That would not matter, Hades thought, if he could find Persephone immediately and flee with her at once. Then the rescue might be effected before the news reached Poseidon. But if he needed to spend much time searching for her, the fact that he was doing so might well be relayed to Poseidon before he succeeded, which would mean failure or confrontation.
Hades did not desire a confrontation. He did not wish to win and make his brother hate and fear him more; worse, he might not win. All the advantage would be with Poseidon while they were on Aegina. In fact, Hades thought, his only hope of getting Persephone back to the mainland without being sunk and drowned was for Poseidon not to realize she was gone. That meant no one—not Hermes, not Zeus, not even his own people—no one at all must know he was going to Aegina.
He stood up and drew a deep breath. At least time was not a pressing factor, except for his eagerness to see his wife. He had six weeks or so before Persephone would need to begin her blessing. He could travel secretly to the cave near Eleusis, take ship there for Aegina, and have all the time he needed to discover where Persephone was, how to reach her, and how to escape from the island. As he took a step toward the curtain, he realized he was trembling with eagerness and he stopped to steady himself. When he stepped out of his chamber and walked to the miners’ quarters, his face might have been carved of stone.
The gang chief hurried forward, bowing. “My lord?”
“I must return to Plutos. I do not believe that it will be necessary to bring down the city, at least not immediately. Replace every third support with stone. That will give some greater security without making it impossible for me to change my mind. When you are finished, return to the home caves. Koios will have orders for your next task.”
Chapter 18
Persephone’s brilliant idea, well nurtured with hope and watered with tears, was about to bear a lovely fruit, which would soon ripen. It had taken her a week to move a suitable number of gowns and a good selection of jewelry to Pontoporeia’s cottage. By then, the old woman had discovered a suitable ship and made arrangements with its captain. Persephone then told Eulimine that her father was growing weaker and she had purchased Pontoporeia’s cottage so he could be nearer the port if he wished to sail home. And just before she sailed, Pontoporeia told Eulimine that with the metal Persephone had given her, she would try her luck in a village in the interior where she was not known.
For a week after Pontoporeia sailed, Persephone had made no attempt to leave the palace, praying fervently that her messenger had got safe away. She had watched her mother carefully but could see no sign that Demeter suspected what she had done, nor did Poseidon give her more than a glancing look or a polite, indifferent greeting now and again. Finally she had stiffened her courage, taken her basket, and gone to the gate. When she was allowed to pass without comment, she had at last believed that her ruse had succeeded. Hades would not destroy himself in an effort to destroy Olympus.
Her relief had been so great that she walked halfway to the town with tears pouring down her face. The realization that nothing could better forward her plans than tear-streaked cheeks had made her laugh with joy, but she had managed to arrive at Eulimine’s house wearing a sad face. Her father, she had told the potter, had a violent attack of his disorder, which nearly killed him. He had recovered, but had changed his mind about being moved to the town. Instead, he had ordered that a special coffin be made for him so that he could be shipped home.
Eulimine shook her head. “Most ships will not carry a coffin.”
Persephone sighed. “I know, but papa refuses to consign his body to a pyre. He insists on being carried to the cave near Eleusis where he can join the dead as he is. He was so sick and making himself worse. I promised. Do you not know of a clever carpenter who could build a closed litter that could serve as a coffin if…if need be?”
Eulimine stared at her for a moment, then remembered how happy Pontoporeia looked when she came to say goodbye. Pontoporeia had not suffered by being involved with the strange young woman. Eulimine nodded. “That I do know. Cyriakos could do it, and if he is well paid will do it without speaking of it, but I doubt he would be willing to work outside the town. He is usually too busy building and repairing ships.”
“There would be no need for him to come to our house,” Persephone said eagerly. “He could build it wherever he likes, and when it is finished, bring it to Pontoporeia’s house. If my father grows strong enough to go home, I can send servants to fetch the litter. If I must take him, I can have his body carried secretly to Pontoporeia’s house. Where can I find Cyriakos?”
As Eulimine described the way to Cyriakos’s workshop, which was at the far end of the docks, near where the wooded hills sloped down toward the harbor, Persephone recalled that she must not have any open dealings with a shipbuilder or be seen near the docks. She fell back on her silly pose of fearfulness and induced kindhearted Eulimine to ask Cyriakos to meet her at Pontoporeia’s cottage
the next day.
She spent a restless night, fearing while she was awake that all was going too well and dreaming as soon as she fell asleep of Poseidon’s heavy hand on her shoulder and her mother’s shrill voice telling her that all was known. However, she left the palace as freely as ever and saw, as she was walking down the lane to Pontoporeia’s house, a strong, squat old man accompanied by a taller but equally strong young one coming toward her. She paused by the gate and invited them inside, invoking and repowering the cloaking spell as she entered.
“I am Cyriakos,” the older man said, bowing slightly. “This is my son, Cyros. He will build what you desire on one condition, that you do not take passage on a ship from Aegina with your father’s corpse, if he should die.”
“Oh,” Persephone said, “yes, I will promise that. If my father grows stronger, we might need to take the first ship to meet a business obligation, but—but if he is dead… He will not be in a hurry and I will be able to wait for a foreign ship.” Then, always wary of watchers, she added, “I do not have much time. Can you tell me quickly how you can satisfy my need and how it will be possible for me to learn about the progress of the work? I—I am afraid to go down to the docks.”
The younger man started to laugh, then choked it back when his father glared at him. Persephone was puzzled, and then realized he thought her so plain that she had nothing to fear. She asked rather sharply whether they had any idea of how to build what she wanted, and Cyros, looking down as if chastened, described his plan, which amounted to a litter closed in by thin, light wood sliding panels with a much sturdier compartment below that could be made airtight by lining with metal if necessary.
“You could ride in the litter,” he said, “if you do not fear what would be below you. And if your father recovers, the storage space will be useful. A panel can be dropped down so he can sit upright with his feet in the space below or you could carry clothing or other articles in it.”
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