IN THE EARLY afternoon, through a viewing pool in my room, I watch Jason receive word of his polis. He is a bumbling thing, nearly forgetting his horse in his hurry and looking a fool in Hermes’s too-large sandals, but even the most unseemly of men can be made heroes if he has a courageous heart and a clever goddess behind him. And the time is ripe for me to be the goddess that bolsters this unseemly hero.
It is late afternoon when I position myself at a point on the Osterian Road where the Illamos River can be easily accessed and where the lack of shrubbery makes the river clearly visible from the road. Jason’s small group rides only a short distance beyond. I shed the fine silk gown befitting a goddess and transform myself into a pitiable rag-clad hag. My thick, blonde hair turns sparse and gray, my back bends and hunches on one side, and my lustrous skin dulls and sags from now-bony arms. Hobbling down to the water, I wait until I hear the men approach.
“Excuse me,” I say, my voice weak with the advanced age I’ve donned. “I dropped my satchel in the river. Can one of you get it for me?”
“You only need to reach for it,” says the one I know to be Castor.
“Yes, it’s right there.” Pollux points to the satchel that has caught on a protruding branch far enough from the shore that a younger woman would have just waded out to it, but a frail and elderly one wouldn’t for fear of being swept up in the current.
“Don’t be rude,” Jason orders.
“I’ll get it,” Odysseus says. He dismounts and begins to remove his boots. He cannot help me. It must be Jason for the ruse I plan to pull on Pelias to work.
“No, I would rather he fetch it for me,” I say, my voice ridiculously coquettish and ancient at the same time. Castor and Pollux raise their eyebrows at Jason and make no effort to hide their teasing grins.
“At your service, ma’am,” he says and swings his leg to slip off his horse’s back. In the motion, the sandals dangle and nearly slip off his feet. It’s no wonder. Hermes appears to have selected the most abused pair of sandals he owns. The leather thongs that would normally lace up the calf have been trimmed away, leaving only a frayed strap at the ankle to secure the shoes to Jason’s feet. I worry he will stop to remove his clumsy footwear, but he eagerly enters the river. The moment his feet slip under the cool water, a look of relief crosses his face.
“This water treats me better than my own men,” he says over his shoulder. “Whoever took my boots will pay for replacing them with these wretched sandals.”
The three men look between one another as if wondering who the trickster might be.
On his second step, I flutter my hands to make the satchel float out further. Jason curses, but the mild oath is no match for what spews from his mouth on the third step when, with a discreet twist of my hand I roll an algae-coated rock to catch the toe of one of the sandals. I hide my smile when, with an ungraceful splash, Jason falls face first into the hip-deep water. It may not be dignified, but heroes must be made to endure a few indignities. Already wet, he dog paddles the rest of the way to the satchel. When he turns to head back to shore, the heel of his left sandal catches the current and is pulled off his foot. This brings another round of curses until he meets my eye and pinches his lips shut.
“Your bag, ma’am,” he says handing me the limp sack when he reaches the shore. “Hold tightly to it from now on.”
“You’re a good man.” I pat his forearm. “I wish you well against Pelias.”
Before he can ask how I know of Pelias, I vanish in a puff of white dust leaving only the satchel behind. From my vantage point at the edge of Salemnos, I flick my hand to bring up the scene I have just left. Jason stares at the satchel, his tunic dripping a puddle of water around him.
“You should leave it,” Castor says warily.
“It’s a witch’s trick,” Pollux adds.
“You two are fools,” Odysseus says. “Witches can poison, they can cast spells, but they can’t vanish like that.”
“Only the gods can,” Jason mutters as he bends down to pick up the satchel. “This could be a gift.”
“Looks like an old bag to me,” Pollux says. His twin makes a grunt of agreement, but Jason shrugs off their doubts and tucks the satchel into his own travel pack then heads back to his horse.
“Don’t you want to take off that other sandal?” Odysseus asks.
Jason grins. Water droplets arc from his tunic as he swings back up into his saddle. He faces his cousin with an amused grin. “I’m hoping I’ll look so ridiculous that eventually the man who stole my boots will see fit to return them to me.”
“I’m telling you I didn’t take them.”
Satisfied Jason will ride into Salemnos one sandal short of a pair, I leave the men to finish their journey as I make my way to the city’s agora. It’s time to rattle Pelias’s Arean nerves.