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“Did he see you?” Medusa asked.
Stheno shook her head. “I was atop a hill when I saw him. He was saddling his horse far below.”
“Was he alone?” Euryale asked. “One man between the three of us is no matter. Why, Medusa could…”
“Do not suggest such a thing,” Medusa stopped her.
“He is alone,” Stheno said.
“Euryale is likely right, Stheno. He must be a scout. Which means other soldiers will be coming soon, if he finds something to warrant their presence.” Medusa sighed.
Should they leave now? She didn’t know. This soldier might pass them by.
“We must keep an eye on him,” Euryale said.
“And if he does find us?” Stheno’s agitation made her voice shrill.
Medusa stood, reaching out a hand to her sister. She drew back, then, wary of putting her sister within the serpents’ striking range. “Maybe he would take the children to Xenia?”
Euryale startled, “A soldier? You would place their care into the hands of a man more likely to take life than—”
“Spiridion can care for Kore better than any of us,” Medusa challenged. “Who better than a soldier to protect the children? Who better than Xenia to raise them? She is alone now. She will shower them with such love… Love they deserve.” She watched her sisters, praying they would see the logic in her plan. “She will offer them what we cannot, a home and family.”
Stheno nodded. “You are right, Medusa. If he comes upon us, I will ask for his aid.”
“If he comes upon us,” Euryale argued. “There is no need to search him out.”
Medusa’s heart was heavy. Her sister was loved for the first time, joyfully embraced by the eager arms of tiny Kore.
For a moment she imagined life remaining as it was. It could be a good life, watching the children grow into strong and happy youth.
But if they stayed as they were, Spiridion would not live to be a man. Her companions would make certain of that.
His young life would be cut short by the very love she now bore him.
She shivered as she spoke. “It is better if he finds them now, sister. The longer we have them, the greater their loss will finally be.”
###
Ariston watched the old man with narrowed eyes. This was the first living person he’d found in more than a fortnight. His path had been littered with graves, more akin to Hades’ domain than that of Greece.
This man, moving slowly on his aged legs, was a surprise. Had the Persians spared him because of his weakness?
“Soldier,” he wheezed. “I fear you’ve come too late.”
“Too late?”
The old man shook his head. “All who lived here are dead.”
Ariston nodded, grieved by the man’s words. “These are sad times, old man.”
“They are,” the old man agreed. He stood, regarding Ariston with startlingly clear eyes set deep beneath weathered wrinkles. “Will you eat with me? It has been too long since I’ve had company other than myself.”
Ariston swallowed his impatience. It did no harm to visit with this man. He’d pushed on, rarely stopping to sleep or eat. He, too, had suffered loneliness of late. The stronger Thea grew, the more frequently she left him.
He nodded and slid from his horse, guiding the animal into the shade of some fig trees.
They settled, sharing their dried fish, fruit and the remains of the hard bread Ariston had scavenged from a ruined farmhouse.
