For the Most Beautiful (15 page)

‘You'll never guess what I saw.'

Hermes is standing behind Artemis' throne in the spacious entrance hall to her palace, lounging idly against the throne's back, twirling a golden rod in his hands.

Artemis does not turn, but takes another sip of nectar from her goblet in a weary sort of way. ‘What, Hermes? What this time?'

He twirls the rod a little more, just to make sure she is listening. It is sensational news, after all – there wouldn't be any point in giving it away all at once. ‘You know Aphrodite?' he asks, maddeningly superior.

Artemis sighs with an air of martyred patience, then sets down her goblet and turns to look over the back of her throne. ‘We've only been living together for eternity,' she says, rolling her eyes. ‘So what? What about her?'

Hermes smiles with the air of one dropping a bucket of pitch on an unsuspecting enemy. ‘I saw her yesterday,' he says, pretending not to notice that Artemis has turned around. ‘In bed.'

Artemis gives an unmaidenly snort. ‘That's where she is most of the time,' she says, reaching for her goblet. ‘And I don't need to hear your fantasies on what she looks like naked, Hermes. Zeus knows, we've all been treated to the real thing often enough.'

Hermes ignores her. ‘Not alone, she wasn't. And it wasn't her husband, Hephaestus, either.'

A distinctly prudish expression comes over Artemis' face. ‘What's new about that?' She sniffs. ‘She's always in bed with some mortal or other. Who was it this time? Anchises? Adonis?'

Hermes shakes his head. ‘Not a mortal,' he says, lowering his voice. ‘A god.'

Artemis' eyes widen as she takes in the full implications of what he has said. It almost never happens that a goddess will dare to cheat on her husband with another deity. Everyone can excuse a bit of fooling around with mortals from time to time – they are hardly competition, after all, and they'll die soon enough – but to take a god as your lover? Now that is another thing entirely.

Hermes watches with barely suppressed delight as Artemis wrestles with her curiosity. Then …

‘So?' she asks. ‘Who was she with?'

Hermes grins. The virgin goddess, more chaste than the colour white itself, gossiping about a sordid love-affair. That's not something you see every day on Mount Ida. He saunters around from the back of the throne and comes to stand in front of her, bending down to pet the hunting hound lying at her feet. He is enjoying this. ‘You might know him,' he says, as if he cannot quite remember the name. ‘Big bloke. Calves like tree trunks, and buttocks the size of—'

‘Didn't you see who it was?'

‘Might have.'

Artemis sighs again and hands him the goblet. ‘Do you remember now?'

He takes a deep draught and wipes his mouth on his arm. ‘Ah, that's better.' He looks at her, watching him. ‘What's that? Oh, yes – Aphrodite's little boyfriend. Yes, I remember. I don't think Hephaestus will be too happy when he finds out she spent the whole day canoodling with Ares, do you?'

Artemis looks shocked. ‘Ares? Are you sure?'

Hermes takes another swig. ‘Positive,' he says, full of glee. ‘If there's one god she could have chosen to make Hephaestus mad … Let's just put it this way. Ares has everything that Hephaestus doesn't – if you grasp my meaning. And you know how touchy he is about his looks.'

‘I can't believe it,' says Artemis, and she seems truly surprised. ‘Just when I thought she couldn't go any lower. You heard about Helen and the beauty contest, I suppose.'

Even Hermes has enough sense to tread with caution here. ‘Artemis, any man with eyes in his head would've chosen you for the contest. Zeus probably just picked the first three goddesses he could find. You remember how drunk he was that day – we all were! That was some party,' he adds.

Artemis is just opening her mouth to reply that she doesn't much care whether she was chosen or not when the sound of two voices raised in argument echoes sharply across heaven. ‘Who's that?' she asks.

‘Probably Hephaestus and Aphrodite,' he replies, with a cheerful smile, producing a bunch of ambrosia from his pocket and biting into it with enthusiasm. ‘He must have found out.'

‘No, I don't think so.' Artemis strains her ears, and the hound at her feet pricks his, too. ‘It doesn't sound like Aphrodite.' She gets up from her throne and walks lightly through the colonnades of her palace towards the sounds of the commotion, followed by her dog and, after him, Hermes, wearing an expression that has ‘I told you so' written all over it.

The gods are gathered in the area of heaven over Mount Ida that has been reserved for the meeting of the council. The clouds here are the brightest gold, and there are several large thrones ranged in a circle, like rows in a theatre, all facing a gap in the clouds that opens up on to earth – and the city of Troy – below.

‘How dare you interfere?' spits Athena. She is standing on the arena facing the thrones, just in front of the gap in the clouds. ‘How dare you spoil his first fight?'

Poseidon, who is lounging on a cloud, laughs so loudly that his beard ripples like waves. ‘Sorry if I messed things up for your perfect boy,' he sneers. ‘But Cycnus is my son. Hate to break it to you, Athena, but I think the claims of blood come over your fancy for a bit of Greek muscle.'

Athena is almost apoplectic with rage. ‘It's got nothing to do with that!' she shouts, and the snakes on her breastplate hiss and dance. ‘He's one of the best warriors in the Greek army. I pledged my protection! I promised him glory, and you come in and interfere, and make us both look like fools!'

Artemis bends down to whisper in her brother Apollo's ear. ‘What's going on?'

Apollo glances over his shoulder at Artemis and twists around in his seat. ‘War's started,' he says, grinning.

Artemis doesn't react. These things happen all the time, and if you're immortal, it's hard to keep track of everything. She wonders how Athena can still get so worked up.

Apollo continues: ‘A few of the Greeks went on an expedition earlier to attack Colonae, just a few miles south of Troy. Ajax went straight for Poseidon's son, Cycnus – you know, the king of the Colonians? – so, of course, Poseidon gave him protection. Made him impervious to weapons. Ajax can't kill him – he's in a pretty bad state right now.'

He points towards the coast, just south of the city, where Artemis can make out a small town, two bands of warriors swarming over each other like ants and, in the centre of it all, a dark-haired figure throwing a rain of spears at his opponent with single-minded ferocity.

‘And Athena isn't happy.' Artemis nods, straightening. That makes sense. Athena has become so devoted to the Greeks after Paris' slight to her beauty that Hermes often jokes she should give up immortality and go down to live with them. And Ajax is one of her favourites.

‘You don't override me, Poseidon!' she's saying now, in a threatening voice. ‘This isn't how the war is going to go. Don't think you'll have everything your own way.'

‘Oh, really? How's that?' replies Poseidon, leaning back into the cloud and propping himself up on one elbow to watch Ajax, still striking out at the invulnerable Cycnus with every weapon he can lay his hands on. ‘You'd do well to remember, niece, that I'm a good deal older than you are. Just because you're Zeus' daughter doesn't mean you can be rude to your elders.'

Athena seems to be struck dumb with anger. She stands there, her grey-green eyes blazing.

No one notices as Aphrodite and Ares sneak in at the back and take their seats just behind Zeus.

Then she says, ‘Yes. Yes, you're right. You are older than I am.'

Poseidon smiles and settles back into the cloud. It seems he has won.

Athena bends down slowly towards the ground, where her helmet and spear are lying abandoned at her feet. ‘But you're not faster!' In one quick movement, she picks them up and places the helmet on her head. Before anyone can stop her – before Poseidon even has time to move – she's gone, flying down towards the Trojan plain faster than the speed of her father's lightning.

Poseidon has hardly registered what's happened. He is still lying on his couch of cloud, the smug smile plastered to his face.

But the rest of the gods have stopped looking at him and are crowding quickly into their seats to watch. They can see Athena on the battlefield now. She has taken on the appearance of one of the Greek soldiers and seems to be shouting advice to Ajax.

‘That's my clever girl,' says Zeus, proudly, eliciting a venomous look from his brother.

Ajax turns. Instead of picking up one of the many spears littered on the ground from his previous throws, he runs towards Cycnus, unarmed.

Cycnus hesitates, not sure what is going on. Isn't it dishonourable to kill an unarmed man?

Ajax feints to one side, runs past, turns and takes him from behind. He grabs hold of Cycnus' helmet straps in his enormous hands and tightens them around his neck.

A deep hush falls over the gods. It's a daring move. You rarely see it in battle, these days, not when there are so many different types of sword and spear to thrust through an opponent's heart.

Will Ajax be strong enough? Will he be able to hold Cycnus down as he kicks and struggles against the embroidered strap pressing at the soft flesh of his throat?

Finally, Cycnus stops kicking.

The gods let out a collective breath. Athena did it. The Greeks have won again.

All the gods – except Poseidon, who is busy sulking – start to applaud.

It looks like it's going to be a good show.