DESPITE MY LACK of progress with Polymele, the takeover of Illamos Valley has been proceeding exactly along the lines I had planned out. The registration and segregation of the city has subdued the population and brought an Arean order to the streets. A quarter of the citizens of Salemnos have done the smart thing by joining into my ranks. They now fight against people who were once their neighbors, spy on those who won’t submit, and are completely disposable as far as I’m concerned. To encourage them I make sure Illamosian vigiles are allowed to rise quickly in the pecking order, even giving some command over Arean vigiles. But I know the majority are only loyal enough to save their own skin. Which is why I don’t mind sending that skin as a frontline into Illamos Valley’s districts. Those that survive move up in rank and in my esteem. Those that die, well at least they take out a few rebellious Illamosians on their way out.
Besides Polymele’s continued refusals, the only dim aspect of my plan has been Priam. Gods, why does he not go home to Demos? The old man has been at my ear every step of the way. Does he not have a polis to oversee? He insists there are other ways, more diplomatic ways to take a polis. Does he not understand how long diplomacy takes? I am not so old as him, but I am of an age where I cannot linger if I am to truly enjoy my conquest of Osteria. Does he think I have time to sit at a table and debate back and forth over who should rule which polis? Priam understands nothing of my ambitions so when he enters my office, I nearly order him to leave. But before I can speak, he waves a letter and a broad grin plasters his face.
“They are returning,” Priam says. His smile adds more crinkles to his already wrinkled face. Without thought, I run my fingers over the sagging lines around my mouth. “They have made it. Paris writes saying all has gone well, but they had to stop in Portaceae. I came to tell you I will be leaving for Portaceae City to join my son and then head home. I would suggest you do the same. Jason and Odysseus will be here by sunset.”
I slam my fist onto the desk. The horse, rejected repeatedly by Polymele, topples over. I pick it up and hurl it against the wall. The carving breaks at the neck on impact. I shove back from the desk and storm over to yank the letter from Priam’s hand.
“They can’t be. There was said to be a fight in Colchis.” Ares had told me this during our last brief meeting. He said both gods and Colchians had been angered by Jason’s murder of Aeetes’s son. He said the Colchian warships had been sent after the Argoa. I had assumed that would be the end of it. I had to assume because Ares has apparently been too distracted with Aphrodite to bother to keep me updated. “There’s no way he could have beat the Colchian Navy.”
“He didn’t. Paris didn’t have time to give all the details, but, although there was some bloodshed in Colchis and Aeetes sent the navy after them, the Colchians were halted from attacking Jason in Portaceae.”
“By whom?”
“By no one. Jason married Medea – she’s Aeetes’s youngest daughter. Paris says Castor and Pollux abandoned Jason, but the marriage kept the Colchians from killing him. He is the Prince of Colchis now.”
Prince of Illamos Valley and now Colchis. The boy will inherit the wealthiest polis as well as the best defended kingdom in Osteria. Ignoring Priam’s insistent stare, my gaze lands on the shattered carving.
Polymele. Enough of her refusals. She is the only way. If she accepts me, I will be king. And she is not too old. I can still get an heir or two on her. She will damn well accept me and legitimize my rule of Illamos Valley. Ares insists I need to lead Illamos Valley to fulfill the prophecy, to make the people believe I am the destined ruler of Osteria. And if Jason now has the pelt, I cannot delay making my claim to this polis legally valid by wedding its queen, whether she does so willingly or not.
Ignoring Priam, who still prattles on about Paris’s return, I hurry from the room to the cells.
“Have you made your decision?” I demand, bursting into her cell. “Have you made your choice?”
I stare at Polymele; my nostrils quiver with each hot breath. Even after weeks in a cell, her hair and skin glow with vitality. It is impossible not to want a woman like that. A woman who radiates strength and power even in the worst of times. What I could do with her by my side.
“Have your ears been blocked with cotton?” Polymele asks with a confident sneer. “It’s the same answer I gave you when we were children. I will not marry you. I will not bed you. I will not be a part of your plot as you throw my husband and son aside.”
“If you marry me, I will let them live. If you do not, I will murder them both.”
Polymele smiles. A coy smile as if she knows all that goes through the gods’ minds.
“You’re scared,” she mocks. “Something has you trembling in your boots.” A look of knowing dawns on her face. “My son has returned and he has succeeded.” My hand twitches to the dagger at my belt. Polymele doesn’t miss the action. “You can’t kill me. Without me you have no claim. Without me you’re nothing more than an Arean invader. You may have loved me once, the foolish, innocent love of a boy. You may even still believe you love me, but now that love is tarnished by your desire to seem legitimate. You want to be accepted as king. You won’t win. Even if my husband, who from your offer just now I know is not dead, is too afraid, too enamored with his foundling brother – oh, yes, Tyro told me all about you – to do you harm, my son will kill you if he discovers you have harmed me. Of course, you wouldn’t dare do that. You’ve never had the courage to do more than beg.”
It is too much. She pushes too far with her insults. Her voice carries too much of the tone Tyro used to use with me. I spring on Polymele, knocking her to the ground of the cell. Rape is nothing I am unfamiliar with. It is part of every Arean’s training, and raids into Midden territory taught me long ago how to subdue even the wildest of women. In two deft moves I shove her dress up and clasp my hands on her throat to hold back her screams. Her eyes fly wide as she tries to shout but no sound comes out. I drive myself into her. Gods, she was right, why had I waited so long to do this? Why hadn’t I done it all those years ago?
“Marry me,” I demand with each thrust. Her fingers claw at my hands and face. “Marry me.” She shakes her head. Her hands go to my throat, but she is too weak to hold on. Her face turns from red to purple. I know I can hold on just a bit longer without killing her, just long enough to claim the satisfaction she owes me.
With a handful of thrusts, each one accompanied with a demand for marriage, I release my hands as I release myself into her. Waves of pleasure course over me. Gods, it had been the best I’ve experienced. I have finally subdued her. Polymele, the woman who thought herself too good for me. Some women, especially Middish women who are more animal than human, fight afterward. Others weep. But those who have been subdued lay quiet and will agree to anything.
“Marry me. We would be exquisite together. It won’t be like this every time.” I kiss her cheek, then her mouth which opens with only a slight push of my tongue. Gods, she wants me. Why did I not take her ages ago in that stable? She would have been mine. Illamos Valley would have been mine. I feel myself stir again and grin.
Dear Ares, she makes a young man of me.
I work my hips and slip my tongue into her mouth exploring for hers. When I find it, her tongue slips away from mine. A game? Oh Ares, she is worth the wait. I continue thrusting, gently this time. This time I am a lover. This time I will make her cry with pleasure. I try her tongue again. When she refuses to entwine hers with mine I push myself up, ready to chide her for playing coy as my excitement mounts.
Polymele’s eyes stare up at me. My lusty smirk drops away. Her vitality has been replaced by the blank look of a statue. A beautiful statue. I urge myself to stop, but I have gone too far, my excitement too intense. I stare at the elegant, still face beneath me, squeeze her breasts harder than any woman could stand. With a groan and a shudder I complete my role as lover. I kiss her again, exploring her mouth with deep thrusts of my tongue. If only she had agreed. If only she had agreed long ago. It is her fault I will now have to take this polis by force rather than by marriage. It is her fault her people will suffer. I lay next to her for some time stroking her hair. Sobs grip my chest tightly enough to make my heart feel as if it might stop, but slowly they ease as tears drain over my cheeks.
After a time – I may have slept, I’m unsure – someone knocks at the door.
“Sir, is all well?”
I stand, wipe my face dry and brush my tunic to straighten it. “No, all is not well,” I say looking down at Polymele.
I smooth her dress and tidy her hair, then crouch down to give her one final kiss before I close her eyes. “The Queen is dead. She died in my arms. Why did no one tell me she was unwell?”
The guard opens the door making apologies and excuses as I leave the cell.
I don’t know why. Everything in me tells me I should be alone with my grief. But when I approach my brother’s cell, rather than pass it by, I pound on the door and slide the viewing panel aside. Aeson, disheveled in a dirty robe and bare feet, is pissing into a drain at the corner of his cell.
“Could you at least give me this dignity?”
“Your wife is dead. I thought you might care to know.”
Aeson’s stream dribbles to a stop.
“Dead. Polymele?”
“She took ill and died. My condolences.” My voice cracks. I need to get away from Aeson before I reveal my deed, but I remain rooted to where I stand.
“Polymele has never been sick. Something happened to her.” Fear tinges his voice and my throat tightens. “Pelias who killed her? Do you know? Was it part of Jason’s plot? Please, punish whoever hurt her.” Aeson stops to look deep into my eyes. The scratches Polymele gave my cheeks throb. I hurriedly reach up and turn down the wick of the lantern to hide my face.
“Pelias, what have you done?” he asks, stepping back warily. “Dionysus forgive you, brother, what have you done?” I fling the window shut and, my leg pulsing in agony, I vomit at the door as my brother screams, “What have you done?”
I retreat to my office. When Lena comes in and tries to seduce me, I send her away. I want to be left with my thoughts and my grief. Polymele is gone. Jason is on his way to Salemnos. If he is alive, if he dares to return, he must have the pelt. I cannot kill him, but I can make his return an unwelcome one.
As the late afternoon sun sneaks through a gap in my office’s curtains, a sorrowful bell clangs from somewhere outside. This will be Polymele’s mourning bell, I think. But there is too much to do to allow emotion to exert its crippling grip on me. I whisk back the drapes to fill the room with light. A sudden urgency takes over me. Hoping she has not stomped off to the agora to shop away her fury, I hurry to the bedchamber to look for Lena. With her feet propped up on a table, she lounges in a chair reading a book. She glances up at me, fixes a scowl on her face and returns her attention to the page before her.
“Get up,” I say. “I need you.”
“Oh, now you need me?”
I curse to myself. I do not need this. Now is not the time to deal with this woman’s pettiness. Lena is not going to let me forget my early refusal any time soon, and unfortunately, I need her now.
“Please, I don’t have time. I swear to you, I will make up for my wrongs if you just help me now.”
This mollifies her slightly even if the judgmental narrowing of her eyes proves she isn’t entirely convinced. She slaps the book shut, swings her legs off the table and strides up to me, her hips swaying under a thin layer of silk.
I feign a lusty smile and open my arms despite feeling nothing but irritation that her blonde roots now show through the red dye. Could she not keep up with a little maintenance? But I hold back my criticisms. I can’t complain or she will not play the part I’ve devised. I want Polymele, my heart aches for Polymele. I want to rush to the atrium where her body will soon be laying in state. When Lena drags a finger along my chest, the screaming idea that this is not Polymele nearly makes me push her away.
How had I gotten so mixed up with Lena and how am I to break it off without her divulging the false prophecies I told her to cast? I want Polymele, a queen, not a mere actress. But, like Lena, there is a part I must play to ensure this day is not a complete failure, to ensure that Jason’s arrival does not ruin my future as Osteria’s supreme leader. I take Lena by the hips and kiss her, imagining Polymele to bring passion to my embrace. Being careful to keep Polymele’s name off my lips, I guide Lena to the bed.
When I have satisfied her more than once, she smiles at me coyly, all doubt and anger gone from her face. “What is it you need?”
* * *
“A man comes,” Lena cries as she mounts the rostrum. From my position amongst the crowd, I watch the heads of hundreds of shoppers turn toward her as if each is on the same puppet master’s string. It is early evening, the purple group’s time for being out, but despite the limited time they have to do their errands, the people abandon their attempts to bargain with my merchants and gather around to listen. “A man comes,” she says again. My gaze flicks to the rostrum camera that has been set up as part of my takeover. Lena, with her deft, cat-like moves was to flick it on so all of Salemnos will see and hear the message. The red eye blinks and I have to admit yet again that Lena makes an excellent ally.
“An impostor.” She stoops down craning her neck as if looking over the top of their heads. I listen, waiting for my cue as I pretend to examine the wares offered by a blade maker trained in Helena. “Oh, he looks like your Jason, but,” Lena locks eyes on a frail woman, “do not be tricked by appearances.”
I have to smile at Lena’s irony. The idiots are being tricked already. I bid the vendor goodbye and make my way through the crowd. Despite the fact that she is nothing but an actress, Lena has the makings of a woman who could rule with me. Clever, devious, beautiful, too bad she has no blood to make her worthy of the son of a god. I ease my way to the front of the crowd and watch her performance with a mask of concern on my face. Lena now stands tall, full of authority.
“He will claim to be heir.” She dons an invisible crown. “He will claim the babes in his whore’s belly are the grandchildren of Aeson and Polymele, but he is an invader, a scourge that will rot the vines and salt the fields if you believe his false claims.”
“How will we know?” I ask from the front of the crowd. The question must have been on other lips because the people murmur approvingly behind me.
“He will come by ship. He will carry a treasure of gold. Go now, go to the docks. Stop him. He is coming, he is coming.”
She shrieks wildly on the last sentence and trembles throughout her entire body until she collapses. I run up the steps and slip my arm around her slim waist to help her to her feet. The crowd buzzes as people deliver their reactions and opinions to whoever stands nearby. I hold Lena as if supporting her as I speak over the noise of the people. “Do not let the invader off his ship. I hesitate to order his death, but if my vigiles feel he is a threat, they must act as needed. Keep in mind this woman’s words. Words from the mouths of the gods.”
I give a nod to the vigiles standing guard around the perimeter of the agora. With practiced efficiency, they form up into rows four men deep then march in double time to the docks. When his ship sails into port, Jason will be greeted by a mass of spears, swords and arrows. With loud shouts of excitement, the crowd turns, shoving one another to follow after the vigiles. An elderly woman huddles in a ball to protect herself from the crush of the stampede. I whisper to Lena, “You deserve a reward for that performance.”