Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (16 page)

A BELLOW PULLED PARIS
from his bedding and away from Oenone’s warm body. Stars sparkled above them. The moon, full and heavy, hung low almost touching the ridgeline across the gorge.

“What is it my mortal?” Oenone asked without even lifting her head from the downy pillow.

“A bull. It’s unusual to hear them this time of night.” His eyes scanned the deep purple of the sky. “This time of morning.”

“Are you going to the field?” Oenone blinked sleep from her liquid eyes.

Paris ran a hand along the line of her body, his hand lingering over each curve and came to rest on her belly, just above her sacred cross. His appetite for her grew daily. He reluctantly pulled his hand from her. “Yes,” Paris answered.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“You need not worry. Sleep. I’ll return shortly.” He leaned his head to hers, grazing her lips with his own and whispered, “You are like wine to me.” Then he kissed her deeply. “I drink my fill, and am impatient for more.”

Oenone blushed. “I will be your wine. Night and day, my mortal.” She reached her lips up to peck his with a light kiss. “Go. Be gone about your business so you may return thirsty for my...wine.”

Paris grabbed her chin in his hands, looking hard in her eyes. “I will always return.” He released her face and left their bed to dress. Oenone observed through the soft light breaking through the dark at the perfection of Paris’ form. His wide shoulders, thickly muscled, slimmed to his waist. His mortality did not diminish his beauty in her eyes.

The crisp chill of night still clung to the air, so Paris pulled his woolen cloak tighter over his chiton. As he tied his sandals on, he heard the disturbing sound several more times. He tucked his sword into his wide leather belt and a dagger into a leather cuff. On his way from the camp, he grabbed his bow just to be safe. Cattle thieves were a ruthless horde. He decided against a torch, too risky, too visible for stealth.

As he approached the place where the bellowing originated, he slowed his pace. Firelight glowed and lit the hazy dark from beyond a row of tangled bushes.
Unexpected.
He placed his footsteps carefully to avoid snapping a stick or slipping on the uneven ground. He crouched lower than the surrounding brush trying to get as close as possible.

“We won’t bite you, Paris,” a feminine voice floated across the night addressing him.

Paris froze when he heard his name spoken so confidently.
What trickery is this?!

“Do you think he heard you?” asked Athena, draped in golden gauze.

“Certain,” said Hera the silver-haired.

“Why does he just crouch there?” asked Aphrodite.

“Like a scared child,” the golden woman remarked.

“He’s little more than that, truly spoken, Athena,” Hera agreed.

How do they know I’m here? Something is wrong—
Paris’ heart pounded fearfully in his chest.

“All pardons, Paris. We are addressing you,” the voice came from behind him. A hand tapped his shoulder.

He jumped and spun, as he pulled his sword from his belt. “Show yourself?!” Paris hissed, his feet firmly planted in a fighting stance, squared in the direction he heard the voice. He faced only the empty air. “I said show yourself!” Feminine laughter rang as clear as chiming bells behind him.

“Come, Paris, warm yourself by our fire,” Hera enticed with a beckoning finger.

Paris dared to straighten. He slowly faced the golden glow of the fire to gaze fully at the women.
Tall for women. Tall even for a man
, he thought. Two of them had golden hair and the other silver. They encouraged him to draw nearer with graceful hands and pearly smiles.

“Who are you and why are you here?” Paris asked, gesturing around him with an empty hand, “in the hills? Alone?”

“Come. Sit. You shall hear the beginning of a tale that only you can end.”

Paris eyed the elegant woman with silver hair. She seemed to speak for the trio. Her voice was the one that spoke into his ear. He approached never taking his eyes from them. When he reached the edge of the ring around the fire, he sat. The flames warmed the chill from his shins and face.

“You are unlike any women I have ever encountered,” Paris stated.

“I should hope so. One does not lay eyes upon a goddess, but once in a lifetime. If, even that much,” the silver-haired Hera said.

“Goddess? Your meaning is disguised,” Paris said, confused.

“It is plain, Paris. Look at us.”

“You’re tall. Taller than men,” he offered cautiously.

The silver-haired goddess smiled. “You state the obvious. I am Hera. Wife of Zeus.”

“I am Athena,” the Goddess of War and Wisdom, garbed in gold, nodded her greeting.

“I am Aphrodite,” the Goddess of Love nodded a greeting coyly batting her eyes.

“How do I know you are truly divine creatures? Not some imaginings of a fever dream?” Paris asked. “My mother won’t believe this.”

Hera asked, “Our divine forms are not for mortals’ gaze. Are we not pleasant to your eye as we are?”

“Your beauty is undeniable. Maybe you’re Amazons. Or some other magic.”

“You think us Amazons?” Aphrodite bristled at the thought. “Amazons? How common. I think I am insulted.”

“Their height is legendary,” Paris replied.

Aphrodite turned round in a circle. “Athena, sister, have I made some flawed mortal covering? Am I not perfection? Love personified?”

Athena scoffed at Aphrodite’s dilemma. “You appear as you always do. Your mortal skin is as it always is.”

“If you were to look upon our immortal selves, our true form, you would be blinded. Temporarily of course, but blinded all the same,” Hera asserted.

“What would three goddesses want from a bull herder?” Paris asked.

“A judgment. A simple judgment,” Hera said.

“Of what?” Paris asked.

“Our beauty,” Hera replied.

Paris shook his head. “I’m a judge of bovine flesh. Not women. You’ve found the wrong man.”

“You impressed Ares in the bull arena. He said you proved yourself a fair man. ‘Uncorrupted,’ he said. Zeus agreed. You will judge us from our dilemma,” Athena informed him. “My father believes you will provide honest response to his request.”

Aphrodite held out the golden apple. It gleamed in the dying firelight. She turned the orb on its side and ran her fingers over it. “It reads: ‘to the fairest’.”

“I don’t understand. What does that have to do with me?” Paris asked.

“We cannot all be
the fairest
. Zeus cannot be impartial. No immortal would want to live with the two who were not proclaimed
the fairest
,” Athena said. “You see the predicament for my father, Zeus?”

“But, how am I to choose? If Zeus himself can’t pick from among you, how am I to do so?”

Aphrodite explained, “You are the unbiased observer. Believe me. The idea that a mortal should judge us repulses me. I shudder to think of the implications. I almost dropped the apple, when Zeus proclaimed it so.”

“You have hardly let go of the fucking thing since Eris threw it on the table,” Athena scoffed.

Paris noted that even with a disgusted scowl, the woman calling herself Athena took his breath away. “Could this be true? You are divine?”

“Mortals,” Aphrodite said, shaking her head. “Always doubting, yet always praying.”

Hera clapped her graceful hands together, bringing order to the small gathering. “It is time to begin the judgment Paris.”

“What are the criteria?” Paris asked. “With cattle, it is their pedigree first.”

Athena considered Paris with a nod of her head. “We’ll not be judged on pedigree. We are goddesses after all.”

“Bulls destined for the arena are judged by their physical structure, their stamina, their temperament,” Paris said. “These qualities I can assess. Anything else, I am unworthy.”

Aphrodite smiled widely. “I have the superior physical form. Shall I reveal it to you, bull herder?” Without waiting for Paris to reply, she undid the clasps holding her pale green gown at her shoulders, and let is slip down the length of her body where it pooled at her feet.

Her nudity amazed Paris. Her lithe frame was perfection by any standard. Her eyes emeralds framed by delicately arched brows. Her nose straight and small, tipped up slightly at the end. Aphrodite’s neck held her head with grace. Her breasts large and firm, sat high on her chest. He noted they were much larger than Oenone’s. The nipples pale pink, crinkled into perfect buds. His eyes moved to her belly, then the sacred cross of her femininity. She had no body hair there or anywhere. Her sacred folds clearly visible stirred his loins with warmth. He immediately looked at the ground, guilt flooding him that his body would desire a female other than his chosen wife.

“Is there something wrong, mortal?” asked Aphrodite.

“No.” His mortal nature pushed the lie up to his lips for protection against the battle within his heart and mind. Paris felt entirely vulnerable in this moment facing the goddesses. He realized that his judgment, whatever he should decree, would anger more than please. The weight of what he must do terrified him. He wondered, what harm would come to him? To Oenone? When he angered the two not chosen...

“Stand not impishly by. Finish your assessment of my flesh,” the goddess demanded.

Against his will, he examined the tapering length of her legs, her small ankles and delicate feet. “You are indeed perfection to the eye. I can find no fault.”

Athena followed and dropped her golden robe to the ground exposing her naked flesh. “Paris, gaze upon me next. I am no soft mound of flesh.”

Paris’ eyes rounded at Athena’s form. Her body was chiseled like a man’s, yet decidedly feminine. Her breasts smaller than Aphrodite’s, but perfect orbs set perfectly upon her chest. She opened her arms wide confidently encouraging him to feast his eyes on her. Her leg muscles knotted to perfection above her knees, her calves gracefully squared and her feet were strong.

“I have never laid eyes on such a woman before,” Paris said, amazed by her physique.

Aphrodite stomped her foot, and reached to slap Athena, who easily stepped away. “You cheat,” she accused Athena.

“Your jealousy is ugly,” Athena taunted.

“I am most definitely not jealous,” Aphrodite snapped back.

Hera intervened before they began throwing fire brands at each other. “Come, daughters. Peace. No final judgment has been made. One of us has yet to be evaluated.” Hera disrobed, carefully stepping out of her silver gown, making sure her rounded hips swayed provocatively for Paris to gaze at.

Hera’s form was much more slender than the other goddesses. Her shoulders were narrow and graceful and almost the same width as her hips. Her hair swept the ground in silky tendrils that moved as if the locks had life of their own. His eyes scanned down her chest, taking in each heavy breast peaked with pale silver. Her sacred folds lay hidden behind a triangle of silver hair.

“You are all beautiful beyond compare,” Paris began. “Each of you bears distinctive qualities...even still I cannot distinguish who among you is the fairest.”

“Wisely spoken, Paris,” Athena said. “But the task has fallen to you, by will of Zeus. You must decide.”

“Perhaps, the bull herder requires a more...unique standard by which to judge?” Hera offered.

“What else is there?” Aphrodite asked.

Hera smiled confidently. “We each offer Paris a gift. He must choose the gift he desires most. And in doing so, names the fairest.”

Athena added, “The gift must be within the realm of power we each possess.”

Aphrodite smirked. “I will give my gift last.”

“Sleeping with the mortal is not what Hera meant, Sister.” Athena’s annoyance with Aphrodite dripped like venom from her tongue.

Paris panicked. “I cannot bed any of you. Please forgive me in advance—”

“None of us will bed a mortal. Not even for this title. I forbid it,” Hera asserted. She eyed Aphrodite harshly. Her mind flew quickly to all the women Zeus had taunted her with over their marital life. She would not give the whore monger lightening god any reason to doubt her fidelity, not even for this golden apple...which had sprung from the wedding gift she bestowed on him on their wedding day. She would sooner give up her immortality than give Zeus reason to scorn her.