WITHOUT PELIAS TO threaten them, the Illamosians who had joined the ranks of the Arean vigiles turned on the true Arean invaders. Civilians, as Pelias would have called them, revolted against their Arean oppressors. Riots broke out in the streets of Salemnos and in the districts of Illamos Valley, but within weeks the Areans had been pushed out of the polis. As they were ordered to do, following the command ingrained in them before any aggressive action, the Arean vigiles headed back to Aryana. After a few weeks, Jason received word that the Arean vigiles who had returned were executed for their failure to subdue Illamos Valley, for being shamed by a polis with almost no military prowess.
Lena, on Medea’s order, had been sent under. One moon’s turn later, it was found the gods had ruled her guilty. Her body was removed from the underground cell and buried in an unmarked grave in the woods south of Salemnos.
Throughout this time, Jason still grieved for his parents and, whenever he sought Odysseus’s advice, wondered over their true intentions regarding the succession. As was customary, on the night of the first full moon after the deaths, the priests of Dionysus arrived at the palace with his parents’ will and final decrees. Jason’s gut had roiled when they unfurled the document. Had he only been playing at being king for the past weeks? Would he have to hand over the Staff of Dionysus to his cousin? Would he be able to do so without embarrassing himself? But as they read, no clause, no phrase, no word was pronounced regarding his displacement.
“When was this decree finalized?” Jason asked when they finished reading. Still filled with disbelief that he was king, that his parents had not put Odysseus over him, he wondered if his parents had somehow made a last minute change Pelias didn’t know about.
“Years ago,” the priest said, his wine-stained fingers pointed at the seal stamped with the date of what would have been Jason’s sixteenth birthday.
“It was a lie,” Jason mumbled, looking at Odysseus. His cousin questioned him with his eyes. “Pelias told me they wanted you to be king. It is why I went to Colchis, to prove myself to them. But it was a lie, a ruse to rid me from Salemnos so he could kill them.” The brief elation Jason had felt upon learning his parents had not thought him unworthy was quickly replaced with sorrow. He had killed his parents by leaving to get the pelt, by not seeing Pelias for the threat he was. All his doubts crept in on him again.
“You are king. You will be a good king,” Odysseus said with a sincerity that Jason was unused to hearing from his cousin’s lips.
“Only because I have a good advisor,” Jason said.
“True,” Odysseus said with mock arrogance. “Besides, I have no desire to be king. I want to get to Penelope. I want to bed my wife and fill our home with children.”
Jason fought down a stab of guilt. He knew he should release Odysseus to go to Penelope who still remained with her parents in Seattica. Soon after their wedding, Odysseus had been sent for duty in Portaceae, fought in the battle to defend Portaceae from the Areans and then joined with Jason on his journey to Colchis. Jason could imagine his cousin’s longing. He yearned for Medea after only being gone from her for a few hours. But he needed Odysseus. Surely if Penelope wanted to be with her husband, she could hire guards to escort her to Salemnos. As the king was the highest commander of the vigiles in Illamos Valley, it was up to Jason to say when or if those under him could serve elsewhere. Odysseus would have to stay unless his cousin, his king, his commander expressly allowed him to leave. Afraid of the mistakes he might make with Odysseus gone, Jason could not afford to let his cousin leave his side just yet.
“Let’s just hope that when you do begin to breed, the children take after their mother rather than inherit that gorgon face of yours,” Jason said, ignoring the disappointment in Odysseus’s eyes.
* * *
One evening Jason stared at the grid that the calendar makers had drawn up. On it were dates of plantings, harvests, festival days, and schedules of which wines would be ready on what date and which were only just beginning to ferment. These matters were not tended to by Illamos Valley’s king, but in his efforts to be a good leader Jason wanted to know what was happening in his polis. Jason had also marked his own dates on the grid and it was these that he was most concerned with.
“We’ve been married two months now,” he said to Medea. Since Circe’s arrival, Medea’s belly seemed to have swollen by the day. She was large now, large enough that Jason worried she might burst whenever he touched her. Even as a man with little experience in feminine matters, Jason knew women’s bellies did not fill with babies so quickly. When he drew up the courage to ask his wife if she had been with child when they met, if it was some stable hand’s bastard growing within her, she had sworn an oath it was his and Jason had dropped his questions and accusations. Stepping over to the work bench she had installed in their bedchamber, he placed his hand over hers to stop her tinkering. “I think it’s time we celebrate and share the occasion with everyone.”
Medea looked up at him. Thrilled to see some of the grief gone from her husband’s face, she met his broad grin with her own. She had been worried lately that he never smiled, that he never seemed happy, not even after bedsport, but today he would give her no reason to fret.
“Yes, we did have the least extravagant royal wedding in Osteria’s history. I suppose we denied your Illamosians quite a social event. And we will be celebrating another thing,” she said, sliding a piece of calf-skin parchment over to him. “My father has named you as his heir. You are now the Prince of Colchis.”
He leaned over her shoulder, smelling the warm, musky, addictive scent of his wife’s hair as he read. Since their return to Salemnos, he had feared Aeetes would mount an attack on Illamos Valley in retaliation for the murder of Aby. The marriage may have stayed the Colchian Navy’s hand, but once news reached Colchis, how long would Aeetes put up with being outwitted by his own daughter? Sleeping the first few weeks after his return had been a restless affair during which every clattering pot in the kitchen, every whinny from the stables, every shout of someone who had enjoyed too much of Dionysus’s blessings, drove him from bed with sword in hand. But the attack never came and the nervous anticipation had gnawed at Jason as much as waiting for the reading of his parents’ will had. This letter declared no attack would ever come and that Jason, as husband of a Princess of Colchis, as father of the future King of Colchis, was now heir to Colchis in his own right.
“It did take him long enough,” he said. The weight of the news and its consequences would take time to absorb. For now he was too full of plans for their celebration. “Will you be up for it? The wedding party, I mean,” he asked, glancing at Medea’s belly.
“Of course I will. My aunt tends to me quite well.”
“Then I’ll make the announcement in the morning.”
* * *
In the weeks leading up to the event, Jason sought Dionysus out in the vineyards beyond Salemnos. The normally tranquil god spent the entire season from late fall through winter in agitation as he kept an eye on the weather. At any hint of frost, he would pace the vineyards, blowing warm breath over the vines to prevent their freezing. The day Jason found his polis’s patron god, Dionysus was resting on a slope that overlooked a swath of undulating grapevines. With thick clouds insulating the Valley and no frost expected, he greeted Jason warmly when he approached.
“I’m sorry I’ve been remiss about your new role,” Dionysus said. “I should have attended your parents’ funeral and placed the crown on your head, but—” He waved his hand indicating the grapes.
“I understand, but I’m celebrating my wedding in a few days and would like you to invite the Twelve.”
“Oh, they won’t all come. You don’t want Zeus and Hera both there anyway. Just gets ugly.”
“But you’ll ask, won’t you? You will at least do me that favor.”
Dionysus bit his tongue. Favors? Who was it that kept all the grapes from withering? Who was it that ensured the fertility of the polis’s soil? Who was it that kept Illamos Valley wealthy? Certainly, he didn’t tend to small matters like attending the king’s toilet every time he needed his arse wiped, but mortals would work out their politics on their own. It was the grapes and other crops that mattered. Still, he supposed he owed this mortal a coronation gift.
“Yes, I’ll ask, but I can’t guarantee who will come.”
Jason thanked him and mounted his horse to return to Salemnos and his planning.
In the end, only three goddesses would come. Hera, still full of pride over Jason’s successes, gave no hesitation. After all, she wanted to see the mortal she had backed be celebrated by his people and by dignitaries from other poli. When Zeus heard Hera was going, he made excuses for why he couldn’t attend. Hermes, still angry with Hera over her betrayal of him, also refused to attend if she was going, but made a personal visit to the couple to congratulate them. Aphrodite dithered, but Hera insisted she go to see the power of the love spell she had cast and its excellent results. When Ares learned Aphrodite was going, he wanted to go as well, but Hera refused saying he would only stir up trouble if Hephaestus showed up.
Ares, not worried a moment over Hephaestus, but knowing how precocious his lover could be amongst mortals, sent his sister Athena to keep an eye on Aphrodite. Annoyed over his banishment from the celebration, he devised a wedding gift that would find its way into the royal couple’s ceremony. When the goddesses went to collect flowers from the ever-blooming gardens of Olympus, Ares slipped off to the gods’ fruit grove where citrus, grapes, pears and all manner of produce hung heavy on branches and vines year round. From a central tree he plucked an apple so yellow it shone like gold.
* * *
In little time Salemnos transformed into a celebratory mood with garlands strung through the boughs of fir trees. As a gift from the gods, Dionysus took time away from guarding his vines to deliver Olympian blossoms that would fill the streetside hanging baskets with flowers normally seen only in summer and to decorate the rostrum with grape vines in full leaf. On the day of the celebration, a long golden carpet with a grape vine motif embroidered along its edges was laid out from the palace to the agora and rulers from across Osteria milled about, their travel passes paid for by Jason himself. Despite the winter chill in the air and the thick blanket of clouds overhead, the Illamosian weather watchers declared the clouds held no storm, no rain, no snow. As the most accurate forecasters in all of Osteria, their prediction was believed and no one bothered with bringing extra servants to carry portable canopies over their masters’ heads.
Priam tried his best to keep Paris by his side, while his other son Hector fell into conversation with Iolalus who was making his first trip beyond Portaceae’s borders for the first time since becoming Solon. Odysseus watched every carriage that pulled up and every boat that docked for Penelope, but was never rewarded with her arrival. Excluding Perseus who was said to be exploring the islands off the coast of Vancuse, the entire crew of the Argoa had made their way to Salemnos along with their wives and girlfriends. Eurydice clutched the hand of Orpheus who looked even taller and lankier next to the diminutive and perfectly formed wood nymph.
Even Castor and Pollux, setting aside their anger with Jason for one day, had come as escorts to their sister Helen whose beauty rivaled that of Aphrodite and had even earned the woman the goddess’s disdain. Castor and Pollux were also joined by their younger sister, Clytemnestra, who was hardly visible underneath the heavy wool cloak of her husband, Agamemnon. Menelaus, Agamemnon’s bear-like brother, repeatedly tried to offer Helen his cloak but she refused knowing the men of the Seattica polis took cloak wearing as a sign of acceptance to marry the cloak’s owner.
Helen had been relieved to be free of her betrothal. Indeed, she had delighted in it. Ever since the news spread of Jason’s marriage, men had been flocking to her, praising her, showering her with gifts and compliments. She took none of them seriously. Now that she had been betrothed and let go, she was, by the rights of her polis, free to choose any man she wished. Although the competition for her hand was heavy and the list of approved suitors was full of Osteria’s richest and most influential bachelors, her mother was being driven to frustrated madness every time Helen proclaimed she was uncertain if she wanted to be bound to any one man. As if to prove this claim, within her first hour in Salemnos Helen’s eyes landed on someone she wouldn’t mind tangling herself with for a night or two. His black, mussed hair and glinting eyes were too alluring for her to allow any semblance of attachment to her burly brother-in-law.
But even Helen’s beauty couldn’t override the wonder everyone felt when Hera, Aphrodite and Athena arrived in a flash on the golden carpet. As the goddesses made their way from the agora to the palace, Aphrodite flirted her way through the crowd. Hera enjoyed the awe-struck looks on people’s faces as they stared and, realizing their misbehavior, bowed their heads in reverence as she passed. Athena, following behind, shot warning looks to any man whose eyes lingered too long on Aphrodite, while Athena’s pet owl perched on her shoulder giving his own reproachful stares. Once their greetings were made, they stepped into the foyer of the royal palace where Jason and Medea waited.
“All ready?” Hera asked. Jason nodded, too nervous to speak as if this really were his wedding day, not a celebration of a marriage already three months old. “We’ll lead the way then you’ll follow behind. Ladies.” Aphrodite and Athena went to either side of her and the trio glided out of the palace doors.
When the royal couple followed after the goddesses, the city shook with cheers, although comments about Medea’s gown hissed through the crowd – the wine-toned hue, Medea’s favorite color of clothing, was too close to the maroon of Osterian mourning; more appropriate for a funeral than a wedding celebration. But the catty whispers morphed into romantic coos as Jason helped his child-heavy wife up the steps to the rostrum, carefully guiding her and holding her steady. In addition to the grape vines, the platform had been given a bower of white roses that made a delicate and fragrant frame for the Illamosian thrones. The thrones’ arms and backs had clusters of grapes carved into the cherry wood, while the cushions, from their color to their embroidered pattern, matched the gold carpet. The goddesses sat in similar thrones placed in an arc to the right of the royal thrones. Once Jason made certain Medea was comfortably seated, he turned to his throne. The object centered on its cushion chilled the sweat beading on his back from the heavy woolen cape he wore.
He picked up the golden apple and held it out for all to see.
“Who has left this? Is it a gift?” he asked using a jovial tone to hide the boulder-heavy worry that had settled in his gut at the sight of the fruit. Although it looked like an ordinary fall apple that had been cleaned of its ashen bloom and rubbed to a high sheen, something about it troubled him.
He brought the orb to his nose to ensure it was real and not simply a decorative carving. The apple smelled of warmth and beauty, but a cloying scent underneath it brought to mind decay and death. He shook his head, angry with himself and wondering if the festivities had been scheduled too soon. Perhaps he should have given himself more time to grieve for his parents if he couldn’t even find enjoyment in this perfect piece of fruit.
His finger brushed something. A label had been fixed to one side of the apple.
“Husband, people are wondering what you’re doing,” Medea whispered as she maintained a pleasant smile for the crowd.
He turned the label to her.
“To the fairest,” she read and let out a laugh. “Well, it’s not me. I feel like a Tillacean cow that hasn’t been milked for a month.”
“What does it mean?” he whispered to her.
“It’s a game, a beauty contest. Make the goddesses happy and give it to one of them.”
“I’m in no mood for games.”
“Then give it to Paris. He could teach a course in beauty appreciation. Your former fiancée has certainly caught his eye.” Medea indicated a shaded corner where Helen poised with her back against a wall, and Paris, his hand against the wall for support, leaned in as if whispering in her ear. No one else seemed to have noticed them, which was good. Paris’s name was not among Helen’s list of approved suitors – many of whom mingled through the crowd. If Paris was discovered pursuing an object he had no right to, there would be trouble. The apple would be a good chance to pull him away from her before they caused any discord.
“Paris,” Jason shouted. Paris jolted and made a nonchalant step away from Helen. Jason held the apple for him to see. “This apple says it’s for the fairest. I’m certain our goddesses are wondering to which of them it belongs. As a married man,” he turned to Medea, “I’m blind to any but my wife’s beauty, but I know you are a connoisseur of lovely faces.”
The goddesses smiled at the groom’s tact. Each sat up straighter, each put on her most alluring face, each knew she would be the winner. As a breeze brought in a dark bank of clouds, Paris snaked through the audience, touching the hands of many girls as he passed and leaving each of them giggling with admiration. Jason handed him the apple.
“I don’t envy you this task,” the king said before taking his seat.
“Getting to look closely upon the most beautiful beings in Osteria? Yes, what a horrible prospect,” Paris said loud enough for all to hear. His words earned him several hoots of laughter. He strode past the three goddesses, appraising them as he tossed the apple back and forth in his hands. “It’s truly impossible,” he said turning to the crowd.
Jason’s heart clenched. He could only hope Paris would not give the apple to Helen who had slipped her way through the crowd and now stood just below the rostrum gazing up at Paris. None of these proud goddesses would let the insult pass without retribution. Menelaus, his cloak in hand, followed close behind Helen like a dog after a neglectful master.
When Paris’s searching gaze found Helen’s face, he stopped tossing the apple and a playful smile twitched along his lips. Jason gripped the arm of his throne. He shifted to the edge of the seat, his legs ready to bolt him from the cushion to tear the apple from Paris’s hand, but Medea put her hand over her husband’s to still him. Paris resumed his jaunty apple tossing. Just as Jason was certain the impetuous flirter would toss Helen the fruit, Paris turned away from her and back to the goddesses. Jason eased back.
“Tell me why I should pick you, Hera? Whisper to me.” He leaned forward so Hera’s lips were near his ear.
“I can ensure you become head of the Osteria Council,” she said and was instantly annoyed that she hadn’t thought of something better. Ever since her argument with Hermes, her usual quick wit and sharp tongue seemed to have abandoned her.
He stood up with a look of approval on his face.
“A good reason. And you Athena?” He leaned his ear to the lips of the goddess of war and wisdom.
“I can be at your side in battle and guarantee you will be wise, which you obviously are not if it takes you so long to decide who should gain that apple.”
Paris laughed, pulled himself upright and then winked at Athena. She smiled at him certain she had won.
“And you Aphrodite? Tell me why you should win.” He shifted forward, taking in the warm scent of summer roses that drifted from her skin.
“Because you want Helen, but you can’t have her.” She brushed her finger along his thigh. “You know you aren’t on the list of suitors and that someone else will claim her. You aren’t used to losing a woman you want and you’ve never wanted a woman like you want Helen.” Her lips touched his earlobe sending a shiver of pleasure through him. “If I win, I guarantee you will get her. The most beautiful woman in Osteria will be yours.”
Paris, his head fogged and his balance unsteadied by Aphrodite’s attentions, rose unsteadily and swallowed hard. He strode back and forth across the front of the rostrum to regain his composure.
“A very tough choice, but yet one that must be made or we will never get to our wine drinking.”
The crowd cheered this sentiment and a gruff male voice shouted, “Pick me.”
Jason tapped his fingers nervously as he willed Paris to select Hera. The other two goddesses would shrug their shoulders knowing they were more beautiful but would understand a mortal’s deference to the head goddess. Hera on the other hand would never accept any winner but herself and would carry the grudge until it stewed long enough to boil over. Paris would forever be in danger of Hera’s wrath if he did not concede to her vanity. A fear settled in Jason: The mess Paris’s poor judgment might create could rattle the stability of Osteria. Paris’s voice jerked the king back to attention.
“The winner, the fairest of these three beauties is—” He tossed the apple in the air, caught it behind his back, then slid to one knee in front of his choice. The audience gasped and Jason leaned over his knees, clutching his head, cursing himself for not just handing the apple to Hera in the first place. When would he learn to make the right choices in life? “Aphrodite,” Paris announced holding out the apple to the goddess.
Aphrodite accepted her trophy with a demurely seductive smile and no hint of surprise at Paris’s selection. The crowd remained silent until Hera applauded stiffly and stood to kiss Aphrodite on the head.
“A brilliant choice,” she said to Paris.
Jason, breathing easier at the sincerity in Hera’s words, called the festivities into order. As soon as he had taken the first ceremonial sip of wine and everyone had started to queue up at the wine pavilion, he went to Hera. “You’re certain you’re okay with Paris’s choice?” he asked.
“I’m not as young or alluring as Aphrodite. I know that.” Hera smiled as if the admission gave her pain. “But Paris had better not ask any favors of me or expect my sympathy anytime in his future.”
She gave a hollow laugh. Jason could only wonder what Aphrodite had promised Paris for him to make such a misguided selection.