Shimmering Splendor

by Roberta Gellis

  “A cow,” she said. “I know I am a big woman. It is not kind to call me a cow—but an ox is impossible.”

  The suitor gaped at her. “Psyche!” he exclaimed. “I never had such a thought! I—”

  “I do not remember ever seeing a woman harnessed to a plow in Macedon,” Eros said, with such specious thoughtfulness that Psyche had to bite her lip. “Following the plow, yes, but—”

  “Hush,” she hissed at him. “Are you trying to start a brawl?”

  “No.” His eyes met hers with a purpose they had not held before and he smiled slowly. “But I am beginning to think you would be worth the price even if I did have to pay for you by the pound.” He lifted his brows. “After all, you might be able to draw a plow—”

  “Monster! Psyche, you cannot consider—”

  Her face had been alight with laughter, which added so much to her loveliness that even Eros had found himself a trifle bedazzled. At the interruption, all animation died out. Her face was no more than an exquisite mask when she turned to the suitor, whom she had apparently forgotten.

  “Ignatius, it is not your affair what I do or do not consider. I have refused your offer—more than once. Why do you not leave me in peace and go home?”

  “Because I must have you for my wife. I must!”

  “Even though I am unwilling? That is stupid!”

  “But you are so beautiful. I would not speak of harnessing you to a plow. I would never ask you to do anything at all. I would enshrine you in painted rooms, dressed in fine garments and bedecked with costly ornaments like a precious jewel in a perfect setting.”

  “I do not wish to be enshrined. I am neither a corpse nor a deity. Ignatius, close your eyes and try to think. What good would I be to you?”

  “I could look at you. No one could desire more.”

  “You fool! I have told you over and over that when I am no longer an object out of your reach but your own possession, you will no longer see me. You will not notice me any longer, but every visitor will, and every visitor will desire me and beg to become my lover. Do you know whether I have the character to resist? If you take me unwilling, will I even try to resist?”

  “A good woman does not even think such thoughts!”

  “Who told you I was a good woman? Not I!”

  A choke of laughter, stifled but unfortunately still audible, wiped out the expression of uncertainty that had flickered across the suitor’s face. “You are too beautiful to have an ugly soul,” Ignatius cried. “Whatever he offers you, I will offer more.”

  With a sound remarkably like a beast’s snarl, Psyche jumped to her feet. “And you are no better!” she spat at Eros, whirling on her heel and striding from the megaron.

  “Psyche!” Anerios exclaimed, but his daughter only tossed her head and continued toward the door that led to the queen’s megaron and the stairs to the women’s quarters on the second floor. Ignatius followed her, but neither Anerios nor Eros watched. The suitor would stop at the stairway. It was death to invade the women’s quarters. One shout from Psyche or even a maidservant would bring all the men of the household to the defense of their womenfolk. As soon as it was clear that Psyche had no intention of attending to him, Anerios had turned to Eros and shrugged. “I am sorry, Lord Atomos, for my daughter’s bad temper.”

  “I do not believe she is bad tempered,” Eros replied, still choking a little on suppressed laughter, “merely exasperated. One cannot blame her. She is clever and must be sickened by having her conversation limited to her own face.”

  Anerios glanced at him, almost hungrily, and then said, “But you were not praising her beauty and boring her to tears. So much the more must I apologize for her. One moment I heard her laughing and the next she was dreadfully rude. What made her so angry?”

  Eros grinned. “She had very nearly discouraged Lord Ignatius, which I believe to be a dearly desired purpose, and like a fool, I laughed and spoiled all her careful reasoning.” The smile disappeared from his lips and he looked grim as he added, “Jealousy knows no reason.”

  “This is the sad truth,” Anerios said, looking equally grim, “and is the reason why I dared not simply choose a husband for Psyche. Unless he is a monster, a husband has little reason to fear unfaithfulness in an ordinary woman, but Psyche—”

  “Would certainly be offered many temptations. Yet I think that where she gave her faith willingly, of her own choice, she could be trusted.”

  Anerios’s lips parted, but he obviously swallowed the words he had been about to say, and with a smile that was patently false, began to extoll Psyche’s good sense and modesty. What he said was utter nonsense, self-contradictory—if Psyche were modest, far from being sensible, she would be an idiot—but it was almost certainly what the king believed Eros wished to hear. Yet there was scarcely any need for Anerios to encourage a suitor, particularly one from such a far place, when there were surely enough from close by, persistent despite the firmest discouragement.

  Eros had to swallow a laugh, recalling the scene between Psyche and Ignatius, but the impulse dissipated as it occurred to him that the favor Anerios was showing him might be because his pretended homeland was far distant. Anerios was well aware that, whether for her fault or not, Psyche’s husband might become violently jealous. Was his charm for Anerios that Macedon was too far away to “hear” if Psyche’s husband did become insanely jealous and treated her unkindly, or even killed her?

  Eros was surprised. Until this moment, Anerios had seemed a thoughtful and honest father, rightfully if regretfully warning the suitors of the dangers of marrying his daughter. He was relieved that Anerios was not quite as good a man as he had first thought. Nonetheless, Eros still felt twinges of regret for the punishment he would have to inflict for Aphrodite’s sake upon one who seemed a worthy man. And as for Psyche…he would not think about that now.

  His friend came first, of course. Aphrodite, understanding the curse of his beauty, had taken him into her home, fed him and clothed him, when every other person in Olympus, mage or common, had turned from him in loathing and horror. Through all the years, she had never failed him. Neither the delightful sensations of life—laughter, sympathy, even desire—that had wakened in him since Psyche had spoken to him, nor the concern he felt for inflicting shame and possibly loss of his kingdom on a man who had made the single mistake of offending one of the “gods” of Olympus, could deflect his purpose.

  Little as he liked it, Eros now knew enough to choose the punishment that would inflict the keenest torture on both Anerios and—and Psyche. Unless it was possible that the priestess had exaggerated or initiated the conflict?

  “You need not fear I do not appreciate all your daughter’s good qualities,” Eros said, at the first pause in Anerios’s eulogy. “And not because I expect to be enchanted forever by her beauty.”

  “No, indeed,” Anerios said, trying to look as if he believed it. “There is more to Psyche than her face and form. She is very wise.”

  “I agree. In fact, I think her too wise to be willing to follow me to Macedon, so far from the protection of her father and brothers.” He saw the slight change in Anerios’s expression that confirmed the suspicion he had had, but it was irrelevant, and he went on as if he had not noticed. “Thus, what I must do is be sure she is touched with the madness of love and will dismiss all doubts because of her desire for me.”

  “She has already shown you more favor than any other suitor,” Anerios said. “I will arrange for you to walk with her in the garden tomorrow. When you are not plagued by her unsuccessful suitors—”

  Eros shook his head. He guessed that Anerios’s indulgence to his daughter was ended. Psyche would be ordered to profess love for Atomos, perhaps with a taste of the whip to encourage her “sincerity”.

  “Of myself, it would take me a year to convince her,” he said, interrupting Anerios. “But I will take my case to Aphrodite, who is the goddess of my people. I have heard of your famous shrine to Aphrodite—I came as much to see t
hat as to see your beautiful daughter, who I was sure would be wed before I arrived.”

  “The shrine is closed.” Anerios’s voice was cold and loud enough so that the conversation of the others stilled. “The priestesses were corrupt and would not accept my commands. There can be only one ruler in the kingdom of Iolkas.”

  “The goddess is not subject to the commands of mortals,” Eros warned, his voice also loud and cold.

  “Perhaps the goddess is not,” Anerios snapped, his mouth twisting into a sneer, “but the priestesses are mortal, and they are subject to the king.”

  “I cannot take a wife without Aphrodite’s approval.” Eros stood.

  Anerios stared at him as if he could not believe a man could resist Psyche even for a goddess’s favor. “Then you will not wed Psyche,” he said.

  Chapter 4

  Eros left the megaron feeling the eyes of everyone on him. He had no doubts about the necessity of Anerios’s punishment any longer. Zeus would have blasted the whole palace for such pride. Aphrodite must not be slighted. He was so angry at the sneer with which Anerios had said perhaps the goddess was not subject to his will that he was tempted to invoke his natural form and punish him at once. However, he had not yet chosen the object for Anerios’s unnatural passion, and for some reason he did not examine, he did not want the disguise of Atomos too closely associated with Eros.

  In the vestibule he looked around uncertainly, until his eyes fell upon a bed on which were piled his cleaned hunting leathers, his pack, and his bow and quiver. It took no more than a few minutes to divest himself of the gift chiton and cloak and pull on his own clothes. Upon the clothing he laid a chunk of silver. To pay for his food and reject the gift of clothing was to reject guest-claim and all association with Anerios and his family.

  He had just fastened his pack when Damianos came hurrying out. He looked at the clothing on the bed and the piece of silver. “Surely you are not leaving now,” he cried, “Do you not at least wish to speak again to Psyche before you go? It is nearly dark. It is dangerous to be abroad in the dark.”

  “Not so dangerous as to be in a household that has scorned Aphrodite,” Eros said. “She is the goddess of love, but love can be very cruel—and so can she. Beg your father to make amends to the priestesses and to pray for Aphrodite’s pardon. For your own sake, for his, for the sake of the household—Aphrodite has a tender heart, perhaps—”

  “I cannot do that,” Damianos interrupted stiffly. “He is the king as well as my father. His word is law.”

  Eros turned away and started out. In the doorway, he looked back at Damianos. “He will not be king for long. Aphrodite will so besmirch him that his people will not tolerate his rule. I have seen it happen before. I do not wish to see it happen again.”

  He went across the porch, down the steps, and through the courtyard, stretching his legs to his fullest stride. He was not certain that Damianos would tell his father what he had said and that he had rejected guest-obligation, but he wanted to be well away if Damianos did and Anerios decided to take offense and set his men on him. But aside from the guard’s curious look at someone leaving the palace so late, no one paid him any attention. That made him angry again. Whether for bravado or real indifference, his warning had been dismissed with contempt.

  Eros did not take the direct road to the temple, but he was tense for the first quarter stadium down the road to the town. Until he had passed bowshot range, he was not safe. No arrow or javelin followed him, however, and he slowed his pace, turning aside from the main road that went into the town onto a path that meandered through the small fields and scattered farmsteads that made up the northern outskirts. On a slight elevation to the west was the temple, which he had visited from time to time on errands or to pick up offerings for Aphrodite.

  Night had fallen by the time he reached the road that went from the town to the temple, and as he turned into it he saw above him firelight. Since he did not remember the priestesses lighting their doorway—they did not want the temple to be confused with a whorehouse and required those who desired holy congress with a priestess to come during the day and make their offerings to the goddess publicly—he used a hunter’s caution in approaching. His care was rewarded by the sight of two guards watching the road.

  Eros paused only long enough to whisper, “Epikaloumai Eros,” and for the crawling sensation that passed over his face and body to abate before he slid farther into the trees that bordered the road. He removed his kilt from his pack, bundled everything but his sword, bow, and quiver into his cloak, and jammed the bundle into a convenient tree crotch, where it was virtually invisible in the dark. Then he made his way past the guards, back onto the road behind them, and pulled vigorously on the rope that set a bell clamoring.

  The guards shouted and leapt to their feet, one plunging a torch into the fire and rushing toward Eros only to stop at the sight of a black arrow nocked to his bow.

  “It is forbidden to enter the temple,” the guard shouted.

  “I am Eros. You can forbid me nothing.”

  “Eros, my ass,” the man sneered, “you’ve paid to get your rod dipped and don’t want to lose your—” As he spoke he hefted the torch higher then still higher; when the light caught Eros’s face, he stood transfixed, mouth open.

  “I have arrows of gold and arrows of lead,” Eros said. “The leaden arrow is nocked. Do you wish all men and all women to turn from you retching with revulsion? Go away from this place and tell your king that Eros has come to wreak vengeance for his slight to Aphrodite.”

  The door in the wall opened behind him and a priestess cried out, her voice shrill with shock, “Divine one! Eros!”

  He turned his head and ordered, “Fetch Hyppodamia,” and heard running footsteps, then faintly, at a distance, repeated calls of, “The god Eros is come, Lady Hyppodamia.”

  The guard looked uncertainly from the open door to the black arrow, and again at the unearthly beauty of the face. He became aware that his fellow guard had not come forward to reinforce him and began to back away.

  “I do not want to see you or any other of the king’s guards blocking the way to the temple in the morning,” Eros said, and turned away without waiting for a reply to enter the doorway. He faced outward again, but when he saw the guard retreating toward his fellow, he relaxed his bow, put the arrow back into its quiver, and shut the door behind him.

  “What will you do if they do not obey, Divine Eros?” Hyppodamia’s voice asked breathlessly from the shadows.

  “Do you have a Seeing, priestess?” Eros asked. “Even the gods do not know all the weaving of the Fates.”

  “Not for this, but I know the king. If you kill the guards, he will use it as an excuse to attack and destroy the temple, not acknowledge a divine act.”

  “You need not fear I would be so clumsy, priestess. The minds of mortals are not hidden from us, and I knew your refusal to take the Lady Psyche as your replacement was assumed a defiance of his authority by King Anerios. He said as much to a guest in his house today. What I will do to the guards may cause their deaths, but their punishment will not come from any physical attack by my hand or by that of any person in this temple.”

  Eros heard a stealthy sound behind him and turned swiftly, sword half drawn, but it was only the younger priestess, who had opened the gate, creeping closer.

  “Away!” Hyppodamia ordered sharply. “How often have I told you to keep your eyes on the floor when one of the divine ones honors us with a presence? Do you wish to be consumed by an unslakable thirst? To your chamber. On your way, bid Glaucia come hither to watch by this gate. And do not dare set a foot outside of your cell until I come for you.” She waited until lagging footsteps faded along a passage to Eros’s right and then, in a murmur Eros could scarcely hear said, “Will it please you to use Aphrodite’s apartment, my lord? You will be safe there from intrusion.”

  “Indeed,” Eros said, smiling. “And you will have fewer problems if I am out of sight. But do you come wit
h me, Hyppodamia”—she had better come with him, he thought; he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to get to Aphrodite’s rooms, since he had never seen this part of the temple before—“as I have some questions.”

  He then graciously waved for the priestess to precede him and followed her from the short corridor into an antechamber, which they crossed to a doorway in the back of the right-hand wall. That led into a large guest room, with its bath and naked beds. On the back wall was a graceful fresco of a young priestess holding out her hand. Hyppodamia placed her hand on that of the painted priestess, pressed inward and twisted, and the wall pivoted, opening into a chamber furnished with couches and chairs and well lit by lamps burning a sweet oil—one of the rooms Eros knew.

  The wall closed behind him and he saw that a similar fresco on this side concealed the pivot release. Beyond to his left was a narrow doorway that led to a bedchamber, the room through which he usually entered. The pivoting wall on that side had a garden scene in which a blue bird played the role of the lady’s hand, which was why Eros had not recognized the device. Both rooms opened wide double doors onto a tiny, completely walled-in garden.

  Eros smiled very slightly. The bedchamber held a large, low bed that Aphrodite occasionally used to toy with native lovers. Vaguely Eros remembered using it himself, which immediately called to his mind an image of Psyche. Would that be punishment enough? To love her and leave her? An inviting thought, but one Eros put aside. Psyche might be sufficiently punished, but she was too proud, Eros was sure, to speak of her torment. That would not satisfy the need for the whole kingdom to know what happened to those who flouted the “goddess’s” will and make them fear her wrath.

  A pang of deep regret surprised Eros. It had been so long since he had desired any woman, particularly a mortal woman. He had not used any temple of Aphrodite for such a purpose in…he could not even guess at the years, but long before Hyppodamia had become high priestess. His eyes moved to where she stood, head bent, waiting silently on his pleasure and he barely prevented himself from uttering a gasp of surprise. She was old! How many years had it been since he had visited this shrine? Yet he could remember nothing of the intervening time. He might as well have been dead, for all that he recalled of living during those years.