This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(12)

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—

“Well, that’s quite a story,” Demeter says.

“Isn’t it?” I sigh.

In the heavens, it seems that Phaon’s reunion with his beloved was a mere blink of an eye ago. But, in the mortal world, that summer has given way to autumn, then winter and now the world awakens with another spring. In Cyprus, her womb swells with life. The baby they never thought they would have is now imminent.

“They married at last,” I say, remembering the quiet simplicity of the wedding. I watched it as a dove, perched on a tree branch nearby.

“I didn’t think you approved of marriage,” she laughs.

“Ordinarily that’s true,” I agree. “But in this case, I made an exception.”

Her arm linked through mine, we take a turn around the courtyard, with its tinkling fountains, painted marble statues and clusters of chattering nymphs.

“A second chance,” she muses. “A new season in their lives; the springtime of their youth restored and the opportunity to let her choose the husband she always wanted.” She looks at me with warm approval. Admiration even.

A glow radiates in my chest. Demeter can be so serious, always concerned about the harvest, or drying rivers and the quality of seeds, or the proliferation of buzzing insects. The ranks of mortals are ever-swelling, and it weighs on her: the responsibility of feeding them all and nourishing the earth. I wonder sometimes if she thinks the love affairs of gods and humans to be little more than a superficial diversion.

It shouldn’t matter if she does, but I value her opinion. I’m glad she likes this story. I’m glad she understands it.

Ahead, I notice a cluster of gods at the Olympian gates, leaning over the low wall.

Zeus is at the center, pointing down toward something, while Apollo leans back against the wall, glancing disdainfully in the direction of Zeus’ finger. Athena is poised and watchful, standing rigid with her spear clasped at her side.

Demeter and I exchange a curious glance, and without a word we walk over. Apollo nods in greeting. The other gods are too preoccupied to notice us at all.

“What is it?” I ask. “What are you looking at?”

Apollo rolls his eyes, beckoning us over. “Come and see.”

I peer over the edge. A wisp of cloud drifts past. Beyond the grand majesty of the steps, far beneath us, there’s a stream of movement across the distant plains. A charge of mortals, the faint sunlight glinting off the metal tips of their spears.

“It’s just a war,” Apollo says.

“Come on,” says Zeus in jubilant tones, nudging his son’s side. “It’s set to be quite a show.”

Apollo sighs. “Nothing’s started yet—the army is moving, but the battles haven’t begun.” His whole posture radiates a haughty boredom.

“They’re setting up camp,” Athena tells him, her face impassive as she studies the scene below. “There’ll be no fighting until morning.”

I lean further over. We’re so high up, the mortals are an indistinguishable mass. They could be a stream of ants.

Demeter shakes her head. “I don’t need to see it,” she says, stepping back from the wall. “Come inside with me,” she adds, taking my arm.

Amusement sparks in Zeus’ eyes. “Is the very prospect of fighting too much for you?” he asks.

“Hardly,” I retort. It isn’t squeamishness that makes me want to avert my eyes; it’s the sympathy I feel for them not knowing whether they’ll survive the battle ahead. Zeus could never understand.

“Let’s go and drink wine,” Demeter says, the press of her hand on my arm warm and insistent, steering me away.

“A good idea.” Apollo claps his hands together. “I’ll join you. Leave these two to wait for the carnage to begin.”

Zeus laughs. “You’re right,” he says. “I’ll come back tomorrow when it’s more interesting.”

Demeter purses her lips. “I’ll hear the prayers of the mothers,” she mutters to me. “These three won’t be troubled by any of that.”

She’s kind, and besides that I know she’ll abhor the churning up of the soil, the fire and devastation that the battle inflicts on the land. Mortals die all the time and in numbers we couldn’t ever count or grieve, but it doesn’t mean we have to celebrate it.

She’d be wiser not to let the others know that it bothers her. Better not to give them anything to exploit.

“It’s just such a waste,” I reply, loud enough for the others to hear. “All those healthy young men consigned to Hades, when they could be worshipping me instead.” It’s a deliberately callous joke, and I know that Demeter will understand it’s not for her.

Apollo gives an approving chuckle. The other gods stir themselves to accompany us inside.

I look back once, as the sun slides out from behind the soft white clouds. Golden rays fall across the surge of warriors.

And then something catches my eye. In the swarm of humanity, one figure stands out, his tiny shape haloed in a faint glow. A mortal who has been touched by a god.

And, with a sickening lurch, I realize who it is.



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—

Drinking with the gods is forgotten. Instead, I swiftly make my way down to where the army has stopped for the night. The smell of smoke hangs in the air, tendrils snaking from circles of ash where small fires have burned out, but more powerful than that is the sour reek of hundreds of men gathered under the makeshift tents they’ve erected. Tension simmers in the air: a pent-up mixture of apprehension and dark excitement.