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A shout went up from the city, followed by much laughter. Medusa looked at Elpis, who smiled and shrugged.
Choes had been uneventful, Medusa was thankful for that. She’d been weary enough, with troubled thoughts and dreams, without worrying over the dangers of a drunken city. In a few hours, Athena would meet the Chytroi’s procession here at the temple. The procession marked the end of the Sacred Marriage, Hieros Gamos. It was a great celebration, honoring the city’s Goddess and her birth.
Once the Hieros Gamos ended, Athena would visit her temple for her naming ceremony. While it was a simple ceremony, Athena’s rituals did not include the citizens of Athens. Citizens did not know which maid hid beneath Athena’s veils for the first year in her position. Whoever was chosen would simply be called “Priestess”. Those maidens Athena did not select for Athens, she might send on to another of her temples. The others returned home, to marry or care for their family.
Medusa remembered her first ceremony. She’d barely reached her twelfth year, having served as an arrephoroi, acolyte to Athena, for three years prior. Athena had known Medusa, loved her, called her “Little One” since she’d been a small child.
When Athena had called her name, Medusa had never felt such joy. Through that act, Athena had guaranteed Medusa a home, peace, and purpose.
Medusa’s name had been called for the last five years. Each time Athena would smile and say simply, “My little one.”
But Poseidon may have pled his case by now. If Athena called her name this night, would it be to place her hand in Poseidon’s?
Her aunt and uncle had arrived at the temple earlier, laden with offerings for the evening’s ceremony, as was their tradition. But their presence served to stretch the limits of Medusa’s endurance. Galenus complained loudly, disgruntled by the festival, their travels, and all.
Thea seemed to share in Medusa’s restlessness, flitting between the branches of the olive tree and the roof of the temple. When she’d tried to soothe Thea, the bird had flown to Ariston, settling upon his shoulder and leaning into his caress.
Oh, how she envied Thea.
“That is done,” Galenus said, leading Xenia from the temple. “Let us eat before Athena arrives, shall we?”
Sitting upon a thick rug beneath the shade of a large olive tree, Xenia shared their adventures in Athens with Medusa and Elpis. Xenia was absorbed in her storytelling, finding nothing amiss. Galenus, however, stared at Medusa. From the corner of her eye she saw her uncle’s gaze narrow, peering at her with ever increasing impatience.
“What ails you, niece?” Galenus asked, effectively ending Xenia’s praise for their earlier meal of tender braised pheasant and roast lamb. “Are you ill?”
There was no reason to keep Poseidon’s visit from them, yet she suspected sharing such events might only add to her burdens. “My heart is heavy, Uncle. And I’ve slept little of late.” Yet she knew to proceed with caution.
“Are you sickly, child?” Xenia repeated, her voice growing anxious.
Medusa shook her head. “No… I’m fine.”
“You are plainly not fine,” Galenus asserted.
Medusa’s eyes traveled up, into the branches of the olive tree that gave them shade. Thea regarded her with round yellow eyes. The bird, sensing her mistress’ nerves, cooed to Medusa softly in encouragement.
Medusa smiled slightly at Thea, then said, “I was visited… by the Sea God.”
“Visited? By Poseidon?” Galenus scowl deepened. “Speak plainly, girl.”
Xenia gasped, covering her face with her hands. “He… he has compromised you?”
“Has he… What?” Galenus voice rose, leaping to his feet.
Medusa rose too, shaking her head. “Peace, Uncle…”
“Where was your soldier?” Galenus roared. His face grew mottled, reddening as he turned in search of Ariston.
Ariston stepped forward, ready to answer to her uncle. She knew he’d stayed, with ever more diligence, constantly in her shadow since Poseidon had left. His devotion knew no bounds – sleeping outside the robes room, standing in the temple door, and following her every step.
And her heart was both full and heavier for it.
Medusa dared to meet Ariston’s gaze briefly, struck by the agony in his silver-grey eyes. It saddened her to see such suffering at her hands. As if he, her beloved Ariston, could have protected her from Poseidon.
He could not.
“He did not touch me, Uncle.” Medusa said quickly.
Her aunt and uncle regarded her in confusion.
