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Victory.
Glory.
These had been his goals as well, until Medusa. Now glory, victory, paled next to the peace and pleasure he found in her arms. This would be his last battle. He would be victorious so he might return to her.
Pamphilos’ eyes narrowed as he pointed to the sky. “A storm is coming, one that will tip their heavy loads and buoy us over them.”
“Let it come. If Poseidon seeks tributes, we shall help them on their way.” Ariston’s eyes narrowed as his eyes scanned the sky, then the water.
There was a storm coming. Grey and black streaked across the sky, spreading across the blue sky and darkening the sun itself. Ariston watched and felt his senses sharpen. This was not the advantage he’d hoped for. Nor was this storm a comfort – there was something more…
The clouds rose, then split sharply as if the sky were being cut in two.
The wind fell flat, the air silent and still.
Just as suddenly, the sky roared. Thunder rolled over the waves, deafening Ariston and all upon the sea. With a staggering gust, the wind pulled sharply at their sails. The ships surged, carried ever closer to the Persians.
“A strange storm,” Pamphilos noted.
Ariston nodded. “Anchor the oars. We cannot afford to lose our speed.”
Pamphilos hurried towards the galley opening, bellowing Ariston’s orders through the hatch to the oarsmen below.
Ariston reached for his linothorax, slipping it on and lacing the sides of his leather and bronze chest plate in preparation for the day to come.
When he returned, Pamphilos held a letter. “Ektor gave this to one of the men last night. It’s for you.” Pamphilos was smiling, a knowing kind of smile. “The girl, Elpis, left it for you. She’s from Master Galenus’ household? Your lady wife’s house?”
He took the note from Pamphilos, opening it even as his second watched him closely. “She is,” Ariston said, already reading the words.
Master,
Your lady wife knows nothing of my plea. She would not thank me for interfering. Athena’s gift was no gift at all. The Olympians demand a union between our lady and Poseidon. Medusa refused. Poseidon then bid her be his mistress. She refused that too. But I fear he will not rest until his will is done.
I know you leave to serve Athens when our city needs you most. But I beg for your aid. Guide me, help me to help our lady, I implore you.
I await your good word. Your humble servant
– Elpis
The parchment crumpled in his hold, crushing the words that cleaved his heart. Ariston stared back towards Athens, beyond his reach.
The wind continued to howl about him. But his ears throbbed and his blood roared.
She was alone. In danger. Had his dreams not warned him of such? Had they not tainted his sleep and robbed him of any pleasure he might find with her?
With hands tight upon the rail of his ship he held himself in check.
“Pamphilos,” his voice trembled with rage, masking the fear that twisted his stomach. He could not leave her unprotected. He knew he must reach her. “Turn the ship about. We return to Athens.”
Chapter Nine
There were no ships for Rhodes – there were no ships leaving Athens.
Medusa could not return to her uncle’s house. She would have no hand in the suffering of Galenus or Xenia. She feared her actions would bring them misfortune as well, but prayed staying well away might spare them.
She pleaded with Elpis, urging her to return to Galenus’ home or her own father’s house. But Elpis would not leave her, even though they had no place to go.
The storm had been so sudden, they’d been forced to find shelter. Since its beginning, intermittent sheets of rain and spears of ice had pelted Athens. They’d been relieved with the herder’s shelter they’d found, uncaring that it was little more than a cave. Huddled together about their small fire, they waited. The rain had poured steadily since noontime the day before, the sky shaking with thunder. Surely this storm would not last forever.
