“No need for that,” I said, smiling. “It’s past and pardoned. I’m just glad to learn everything’s going well for you. So you’re marrying a fisherman’s daughter. That fisherman’s daughter?”
“Alkyone.” Milo pronounced her name so fondly that I didn’t need to ask if he’d found true love and happiness. I was delighted for him. “She did a very good job of pretending to be you. Too good. She told me that when your father’s messenger arrived at Delphi to announce you were back in Sparta, half the priests and servants at Apollo’s temple refused to believe it. The Pythia herself had to swear an oath with one hand on the holy tripod before they’d accept it. Of course, then they wanted to punish Alkyone for fooling them. Eunike stepped in again and said that Alkyone would become her personal servant in order to make up for what she’d done.”
“Eunike’s servant?” I laughed. “A very hard job, I’m sure.” We both knew that the Pythia had asked very little of the girl.
“Almost as hard as pretending to be a princess. It’s a good thing I’m going to be so wealthy. My Alkyone’s got a taste for the finer things in life. But she’s worth all of them to me.” His gaze drifted to the statue of Aphrodite. “I should make a generous offering to the goddess for such a blessing.”
I studied the clay image. She looked much smaller than I remembered, and her paint was no longer bright, but I knew that Aphrodite’s true power came from something greater and more enduring than what mortal eyes could see.
“I’d be honored if you’d bring your offering here,” I told him.
“The honor would be—” Milo stopped short, then slapped his forehead. “It’s so good to be able to talk to you again, Helen, that I forgot the reason we’re here. I have a message for you.”
“News from an old friend.” I mimicked Ione’s disapproving tone. “Who?”
“The Pythia.”
“Eunike!” I exclaimed happily. “Oh, I do miss her. Maybe I can convince Father to let me travel to Delphi again. I could say I wanted to hear what the future holds for—”
“It wasn’t Eunike who sent me, Helen,” Milo said solemnly. “When she sees the future, there is no Eunike, only the holy Pythia.”
I felt the hairs at the nape of my neck prickle. “She saw my future, didn’t she? What did she see, Milo?”
“This.” He stepped to one side. It was only then that I saw the cloth-wrapped bundle on the ground behind him. He stooped to pick it up and handed it to me. I drew back the swaddlings and found myself staring into the shining depths of a mirror. At first I thought it was the same one that the younger merchant had tried to give me, the gift that roused so much anger in Prince Menelaus. But that mirror was made of polished bronze. This one was silver. I turned it over slowly and saw the breathtaking artistry of a master craftsman.
Frozen in glimmering metal, sheep wandered un-tended over the forested slopes of a great mountain. Their shepherd had a more urgent task at hand. His face was hidden from me, but not the faces of the three goddesses before him. They towered above the trees, their streaming hair becoming a part of the clouds. Their faces were as flawless as their bodies, but there was a dreadful intensity in their gaze. All three stared greedily at a single dot of gold, the perfect apple shining in the palm of the shepherd’s hand. What was so special about that tiny golden apple? Why could I almost feel the mirror vibrate with the intensity of the goddesses’ desire and the fateful, breathless waiting that hovered over that unknown shepherd in the moment before he made his choice?
“How can a contest among three goddesses have anything to do with me?” I asked, looking up. “And why did Eunike—why did the Pythia send me her message like this?” I held out the mirror to Milo.
He took it from me calmly. “She didn’t. She only summoned me into her presence, described her vision, and ordered me to take her words to you. Bringing her prophecy to you like this”—he turned the mirror over and forced it back into my hands—“was my doing. I owe you everything, Helen. I want you to be as happy as I am now. Most of all, I never want you to be afraid. No matter what the Pythia saw in your future, I never want you to forget—”
“—that it’s my future.” I held the mirror by its long, elegant handle as if it were a sword and looked steadily into its smooth silver face. There were no goddesses there, was no golden apple and no shepherd. There was only me.
My future, I thought. May the choices that create it all be mine!
“SHE CAN’T DO THAT TO MYTHS!”
One of my all-time favorite movies is Jason and the Argonauts. It showcased some fabulous pre-CGI special effects done by the master of the art, Ray Harryhausen, who also co-produced the film. The effect that impressed me the most (by which I mean it scared the daylights out of me) happened after Jason slew the Hydra and took the Golden Fleece. Infuriated, King Aetes of Colchis planted the Hydra’s teeth in the earth and intoned, “Rise up, all you dead, slain of the Hydra! Rise up out of your graves to avenge us!”
After so many years, I don’t know whether those were King Aetes’ exact words, but whatever he said, it worked. A skeleton army of the Hydra’s previous victims slowly and creepily emerged from the ground, bearing swords and shields. They formed ranks and did a grim, inexorable, step-by-step advance on Jason and his men. Then, with a bloodcurdling shriek, the dead attacked! Harryhausen didn’t just give us the sheer horror of living, moving, armed-and-dangerous skeletons (with the added fear factor of How can you defend yourself against an enemy who’s already dead? Some of the skeletons kept on fighting even after their heads were knocked off!). He took the trouble to make those skeletons look angry, vicious, and bloodthirsty. They went after Jason and his men with a vengeance. I didn’t sleep well for weeks afterward.