Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (17 page)

“Hera, bestow your gift. I shall follow. Aphrodite shall be last,” Athena said.

“Very well. Paris, I see that you roam your land widely, yet it is limited. I will give you all the lands north and west of Greece and the eastern realm rich with gold and spice as yours to rule and roam.”

“That is indeed generous, Hera,” Paris said. He thought how little Oenone would desire living so far from home. He had no desire to rule such a vast expanse of land. He stood without another word.

Athena sighed. “My gift is one no true warrior could resist. You are destined for great things. I can see this. I offer you unsurpassed skill in battle and warfare. Your skill will be renown among mortals for millennia.”

“I thank you, goddess for your deep wisdom. You gift is indeed generous.” Paris again offered little to give away his position. He had no desire for war, for battle, or for legend. He only wished to raise the best bulls. Win contests in the arena. War was the furthest thing from his heart’s desire.

Aphrodite took notice of Paris’ polite, yet unenthusiastic responses. Perhaps something a bit more seductive would entice his favor and the apple. “Paris, I can see that you are a discerning man. Contemplative. I cannot offer more than my realm, as the contest has decreed. Love is my gift.”

“That is a gift I bear already,” Paris replied.

“But you do not have the love of the most beautiful woman in the world,” the Goddess of Love countered.

Athena shot up from her seat on the log. “There was to be no mating between mortals and—”

“Your dullness bores me, Athena! I said
woman
, not goddess,” she laughed. “I was not offering myself.”

Paris considered the gift as Athena seethed. “I have the most beautiful woman. Your gift is again something which I possess.”

“No, you have a nymph, not a mortal. And there is a mortal whose beauty will rival that of the divine. And I proclaim her love...yours.”

Hera shook her head. “That is a strange gift. I know of no human whose beauty rivals the heavens.”

“You mean yours,” Athena spat.

“Watch your words with me. I afford you a position on Olympus, as a daughter of Zeus. But you are no child of mine. We both know—”

“Peace, Hera. I speak of a woman who has yet to be born,” Aphrodite said.

Paris nodded. “You offer me a woman who has not yet met the light of our world?”

“She will,” Aphrodite promised. “Trust me, she will.”

Paris considered his life. Since the cave incident, he’d chosen to live most of his days peacefully with Oenone. Their marriage he considered a sacred bond. She’d revealed to him the gentle ways a woman loves a man, coaxing him, encouraging him to rise to ecstatic heights. His body never felt such pleasure. He had no desire to leave the nymph for realm, war, or another love. Yet, he understood that he must judge. Whoever he chose, would become his instant guardian, and the two not chosen would become his immediate enemies. If he chose Hera’s gift, he would have to leave Oenone for she would never part with her world, their world. If he chose Athena, he’d have to dedicate his life to war. What good is a warrior’s gift to a bull herder? That left Aphrodite’s gift. It posed no imminent threat. The woman had not been born. What harm in choosing a gift he could not possess, thus preserving his current life?

“I will not delay my decision,” Paris said.

The goddesses leaned toward him each anticipating their individual triumph of vanity.

“I choose...Aphrodite’s gift.”

“What? What did he say?” Hera asked, genuinely confused.

“He chose with his cock!” screamed Athena. She yanked her golden robe up to her shoulders and fastened the clasp. “I should unveil my full glory at you, bastard herder...blind you for your puny efforts.”

“Did you say Aphrodite’s gift served you best? You actually chose an unborn female to the world being laid at your feet? I agree daughter. Men and gods think with their dangling appendages.” Hera picked up her gown without even putting it on, stomping several steps into the woods, before disappearing from sight.

“You will pay for the insult, Paris. On that you may count.” Athena followed Hera’s path and she too disappeared into nothing.

Aphrodite picked up the golden apple that had fallen to the ground. She gleefully tossed it into the air. “It’s mine. I am the fairest.”

“Congratulations, goddess,” Paris said.

“When the moment presents itself, she will be sent to you,” Aphrodite promised.

“I thank you, goddess.” Paris bowed his head in deference. When he looked up, she was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief. At least his world remained intact for now. He hoped Aphrodite would protect him from the wrath of Athena and Hera. For the time being, he decided it best not to say anything to Oenone. She would only worry. If the girl hadn’t been born yet, it would be years before Aphrodite would present her gift. There was time enough to live life and enjoy the simplicities of his world.

THE WEDDING FEAST
had ended on a sour note, but the wedding eve proved a sweet and vigorous affair. Thetis lay sleeping in the curve of Peleus’ body. Her cool skin smoothed like silk against his coarse hairiness. He had thought his heart immune to love, but with each mating the iron heart in his chest softened. He satisfied the nymph from every possible angle until she collapsed into the linen, both of them smiling in the dark. Sleep eluded him the entire night. Usually, sex satiated him into a deep slumber. He blamed the wine. He’d drunk enough of it to fell a wild boar.

Thetis stirred in the crook of his arm. Her long black hair spilled across his shoulders and pillows, and tangled between their legs. Peleus watched her sleep filled eyes flicker back and forth beneath their lids. She smiled peacefully. He brushed the side of her face with his hand and gently kissed her forehead. He marveled that even in sleep the nymph’s beauty surpassed any female he’d ever laid eyes on. He pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arm tighter around her. He wanted to protect her forever, keep her to himself. When he promised her freedom, he had no idea that her presence would compel him to want her more. Keeping his promise would prove more difficult than he originally believed.

The morning sun lit the edges of the curtains brightening the chamber with the coming of Apollo’s glory. Thetis opened her eyes to find her new husband gazing down at her.

“Do you find me as pleasing in Apollo’s light, as in the darkness?” she cooed.

The very sound of her bubbling voice set his desire to burning. “You please, nymph. In every way a man can be pleased.” He rolled onto his side facing her and kissed her above each eye.

“I, too, am well satisfied. I did not think a mortal man capable of igniting such a fire within me,” Thetis smiled up into Peleus’ large blue eyes. She reached a slim hand to stroke his blonde beard, and brushed a stray honey gold curl from his forehead. “Did you find the wedding gifts pleasing as well?”

“I was surprised by the horses given by Poseidon. Balius and Xanthus will be the finest horses in my stables. Immortal horses? I never imagined such a thing existed.”

“And Chiron’s spear?” Thetis asked.

“Never gripped a finer balanced shaft and blade,” Peleus assured her. “Chiron said the blade was forged by Hephaestus himself.” He leaned his head down to kiss her.

“Our marriage is only one day long and already the gifts exceed what any mortal deserves.”

“There is one other gift left to give, my husband. Although it is rather small now, it will increase as the days pass. I do hope it will please you.” Her liquid eyes darkened with seriousness.

“What do you speak of? I know of no other gifts,” the king said.

“It is my gift, my husband.”

“There is nothing you could offer that would displease,” Peleus reassured his new wife.

Thetis pressed her naked body closer to Peleus. “Your seed has taken hold in my belly,” she said.

Peleus rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling of their marital chamber. His face revealed nothing.

“There is more,” she offered.

“Speak the words,” he said softly.

“It is a son. He will be golden like his father and blessed like his mother.”

Peleus’ eyes found hers. In that moment, his tormented heart found wholeness. He was truly content. “With your blood running through him, he will be the mightiest warrior the Myrmidons have ever followed.”

“Then, you are pleased?” Thetis asked.

Peleus grabbed his wife playfully and pulled her on top of him. He placed both hands on either side of her sweet, soft hips positioning her legs so she straddled him. He growled, “Ride me nymph. Ride me until I can take no more.” For the first time in years, he felt sure that the unfortunate marriages of his past could not touch his love for the nymph.

Thetis grinned down into his face. “As you wish.”

Sing Muse, Sing of the Golden Men

their lives entwined by

iron threads of Fate

bound together by love and hate

One immortal

One high born

thirsting for

the blood of the other

Sing Muse, sing of the Golden Warrior

and the Golden Prince

two mighty lions

...and their dance of death

THETIS HELD HER
sleeping son to her bare breast. She looked down into his cherubic face framed by golden hair. She traced the strong jaw line he inherited from Peleus with her finger. Surely he would be the most beautiful mortal man who had ever lived. For the past year her love for Achilles consumed her waking moments because a terrible darkness chased the sea nymph’s joy for her young son. The second prophesy revealed by Themis threatened his very life. She had no desire to lose her golden son to war, and she lamented that Achilles would have to die at all. She had pleaded with Zeus to spare her heart this pain, but her pleas fell to nothing.

Achilles’ blue eyes, as bright as lapis lazuli, blinked and he looked up into his mother’s face. The child smiled widely at her. Thetis returned the loving gaze and bent her head to kiss his forehead. His small hand grabbed her naked breast pulling her nipple into his mouth. “You are forever hungry, Achilles.” She hugged the weight of him closer to her chest. Soon he fell back to a quiet slumber still nursing softly, even as his arms and legs hung slack across her lap.

The words of Themis haunted her.
Your son’s renown shall surpass his father’s, but his future is not sealed in that honor. A great war is coming and in it he must choose from a double Fate. If he refuses to go to battle, he shall rule after his father and die forgotten without glory. If he chooses battle, he will become the greatest warrior the world has ever known. His name will be sung on the lips for generations to come, long after the gods themselves have been forgotten.

The only remedy within her grasp was to enchant Achilles’ flesh, burn the mortal shell away replacing it with immortality. She knew what she must do. The ritual was as ancient as the gods themselves. If she could wield the powerful conjuring of flames, Achilles would be spared a bloody death in the dust and gore of some great war.  

“My lady?”

Thetis turned, lifting a finger to her lips. “The prince sleeps,” she whispered. “What is it, Chara?”

“The king awaits you, my queen.”

“Tell him I will be there shortly. The baby...” Chara nodded and backed out of the chamber. Thetis cradled Achilles careful not to wake him as she stood. She laid him in his cradle, tucking a linen blanket around him. She bent to kiss his cheek and sighed.
Yes
, she thought,
tonight I will begin the ritual
.

The deep hours of night pulled Thetis from her bed, that and the ache of breasts engorged with milk. Peleus lay snoring in sated slumber. Thetis ensured he would not awaken by exhausting him with hours of vigorous sex and a small concoction in his drink. She slipped quietly from the bed coverings. Her feet moved silently across the cool stone floor to Achilles’ bed. He had kicked his linens off. She gently wrapped the soft blanket around him as she scooped him up in her arms. He nuzzled his face into her warmth without waking. She walked to the chamber door opening it so a sliver of light from the hall lit her face. The household slept. Thetis slipped through the door, balancing Achilles’ weight in her free arm.

She made her way into the great hall moving in the shadows of the red marble columns until she reached the entrance to the lower level. Thetis removed a torch from a heavy iron sconce and descended into the darkness. The stairs wound deep beneath the palace leading to the king’s private temple dedicated to all the gods. Servants were forbidden in this sacred room so she had little concern for interruption. Achilles stirred in her arms as she quickly made her way deep into the tunnel. When she reached the chamber, she placed the torch in an iron bracket set into the wall. She shrugged out of her chiton and bunched it into a pile with her feet. She placed Achilles on the pile of soft clothing while she prepared the silver basin for the sacred fire. Thetis removed a wooden box from an alcove and opened it. The pungent aroma of holy herbs wafted into the still air. Frankincense. Ambrosia. Herb of Moria. Medusa grass. And the rare prize of a few strands of Zeus’ silver hair. Thetis pulled out the frankincense and set it in the bottom of the wide rimmed basin with kindling. She took a thin reed from the box and used it to catch a small flame from the torch. She knelt before the basin and lit the dry matter until it smoked and caught fire. Then she added the other elements except for the hair of Zeus and the ambrosia.

Achilles began to whimper in his makeshift bed. Thetis rose to gather him to herself. He clung to her in the dimly lit unfamiliar room and found her engorged naked breast. He latched on hungrily gulping his mother’s milk. The nymph sat before the flames licking the rim of the silver bowl, her precious son comfortably cradled in her lap. She reached into the box and pulled out the vial of ambrosia. As Achilles suckled, she undid his blanket exposing his bare skin. She poured the ambrosia elixir on her son and began to rub every inch of his skin with it. She applied the golden nectar to his entire body. When she rubbed the soles of his feet, Achilles kicked at her hand and bit down on her nipple with his front teeth.

She put her finger in his mouth to break the latch on her breast and switched him to the opposite side. “Sorry, my little Achilles. I must cover you entirely if I am to save you at all.” She continued to massage the god’s nectar into his skin. When she was satisfied with the ambrosia, she placed the hair of Zeus into the fire. Blue then red flames licked around the silver basin until thin fingers of silver rose from the heat. Thetis pulled Achilles from her breast. He squalled. “Hush, my golden boy. This will be quickly over.” She held him over the dancing flames that licked his feet and curled around his ankles. Achilles began to cry. Tears filled Thetis’ eyes as the pain of Achilles’ mortality began to burn away and his pathetic cries turned to agonized screams.

“What the fuck are you doing to my son?!” roared Peleus behind her immediately followed by a handful of royal guards.

Startled, Thetis jerked Achilles from the fire. Words failed her.

“Answer me you witch! What treachery do you perform? Roasting my son to death like an animal?”

Thetis stood hugging Achilles to her naked breast trying to explain her purpose. “You do not understand, Peleus. I am—”

Peleus took several long strides toward his wife. “I do not give one fuck why you wish to burn my son.” He ripped the child from her embrace.

“I love Achilles more than any other mortal. I do him no harm!” Thetis finally yelled in her defense.

Reeling from what he witnessed with his own eyes, cursing the gods for giving him yet another wife who ripped his world to shreds, his heart broke beneath his leather cuirass. Peleus couldn’t believe the wife he adored above all others would try to kill his only son and heir. He couldn’t fathom a purpose, a reason for such action. She would have to go. He would protect his son at all costs. “No harm? Putting a child into burning flames? Get out! Get out of my palace nymph!”

Thetis watched the enchanting flames cool to embers. Her heart sank knowing the ritual was not completed. She would never have another chance to gather strands of Zeus’ hair. The duality of Achilles’ fate, foretold by Themis, was now sealed. Achilles would in all likelihood die in battle and it was all Peleus’ fault.

“You have no idea what you’ve done, Peleus. You have set our son on the path of doom.”

“He is safe from harm as far as I can tell. His destiny to surpass me is no small task. And I shall see his Fate to the bitter end without your meddling craft.”

Thetis noted the angry twitch of her husband’s jaw. He would never understand that the physical pain the child endured would be but a flash compared to the prized immortal years. Her husband’s eyes burned through her.

“Get out of my sight nymph. Go back to your pond,” the king seethed.

Thetis picked up her garment from the floor and slipped it over her head. “Let me at least kiss my son.”

“You’ll not touch him ever again.”

The nymph’s eyes filled with heavy tears. She fled with her grief back up to the main hall and out the palace gate. Her feet carried her to the inlet pond where she threw herself on the grass and wept for her son. She wept for his dark future. She wept because she knew her husband would keep her precious joy from her. She wept because her love for Peleus was now broken. He was a mortal who would never accept that the pain Achilles must bear now would bring a glorious prize. She wept because she knew this time even Zeus would not help her.