Love
Athene
It was Hephaestus she most wanted to hurt. The days on Olympus – which had once all seemed the same – were now sharply differentiated because she spent each one wondering how she could exact her revenge. And so every day became a complicated journey around the labyrinth of possibility and impossibility: she must hurt Hephaestus because he had hurt her, and honour demanded it. And yet she could not hurt the blacksmith, because Hera and Zeus protected him.
It had not always been so, of course. Hera had despised her son when he had been born lame: Athene had heard the Archer and his sister discussing it more than once （immortality and excessive self-regard left them prone to repetition）。 So Hera felt no love for Hephaestus until he bribed his way into her affections with his endless display of gifts and fawning. But that time had passed long before Athene had been born from the head of Zeus, and there was no way back to it now, she reluctantly concluded, retracing her steps to the beginning of the maze.
But if Hephaestus was safe in Hera’s affections, surely Athene could isolate him from Zeus? He had turned on Hephaestus once, she remembered that. A time when the king of the gods had finally lost his temper with his queen; her conspiracies and criticisms had made him blind with rage. He aimed a mighty thunderbolt that would have maimed even a goddess. But he missed, which only increased his wrath. He advanced on her, roaring, determined to punish her somehow. The other gods shrank back, either because they were too afraid of Zeus to intervene or simply did not care if Hera was obliterated. Only Hephaestus, the loyal little hound, stood by his mama: threw himself between them, begged them to make peace. Zeus had picked up the blacksmith by his lame foot and hurled him from the mountain. Hephaestus had been quite badly injured when he landed – Athene shivered with delight to think of it. If she could only find a way to provoke her father’s rage so he would do it again.
But how? This was the part of the puzzle that took her in circles: it looked so promising, but follow it for a few turns and she found a dead end, whichever way she went. What would provoke Zeus to such a pinnacle of fury? Only Hera at her worst. And why would she antagonize him for Athene’s benefit? She did nothing for anyone but herself. Perhaps Athene could irritate Hera enough to create some friction between the two of them, but it wouldn’t be enough. Could she trick Hephaestus into believing his mother was in danger once again? Perhaps he could be induced to start another fight with Zeus? But this threw up two further stone walls: Hephaestus would do anything to avoid conflict with Zeus, except stand by while his mother was in danger. He would never begin anything. And even if he would, she could not inveigle him into such a course of action without speaking to him, and she did not want to do that ever again.
And so she turned the labyrinth around and approached it from a new direction. If there was currently no way to harm Hephaestus, she would take her revenge elsewhere, and destroy something Hephaestus loved later on, whenever the opportunity presented itself. She had eternity to take her revenge. Yes, she wanted it now, but it could wait. Meanwhile, she would turn her wrath against a god who had now injured her twice.
Amphitrite
Of course Poseidon had done as the Nereids had asked. It was never really in doubt. Fifty insulted Nereids was fifty more than he could ignore. He tried, for a short while. Went away and hid somewhere. His wife had been unable to tell her sisters exactly where. Olympus? Athens? No one was quite sure, but no one was worried, because he had to come back to the sea sooner or later. It was his domain after all: he could not abandon it for long. And he couldn’t ignore the Nereids either.
They knew just what punishment to demand because they all knew what Poseidon wanted. He had lost a tiny strip of his kingdom, when the Gorgon stamped on that fault line. Amphitrite was certain her husband deserved it, though of course she never asked him. But he returned to the same spot day after day, glaring at the risen shore and the receding sea. Every new grain of dry sand seemed to burn his eyes. Tiring of his dark moods, Amphitrite had done her half-hearted best to console him. All gods experienced an occasional loss of power, she told him. But he snarled at her and stalked off through the waves, leaving her with nothing but her large collection of exquisite pearls for company. One of her sister-Nereids suggested she preferred things this way, but Amphitrite did not reply. Even when Poseidon was absent, he had ways of hearing everything. Who knew which fish, which sea creature would betray her this time? She would not take the risk.
But the other Nereids discussed their plans in Poseidon’s absence, even while Amphitrite allowed the waves to talk for her. If the sea god was so injured by the loss of a small part of his kingdom, then he would want to redress that hurt. And what better way to do it than by expanding his ocean elsewhere? If the Gorgons had rejected him and insulted him, then he could flood another land and improve his spirits that way. Meanwhile, the Nereids wanted their honour – insulted by the arrogance of the queen of Ethiopia who believed herself and her daughter their equal in beauty – to be avenged. So the solution was simple. The only difficulty would be in persuading Poseidon that it was his idea. And even that would not be very hard, because Poseidon was arrogant and had always believed himself as cunning as his brothers, Zeus and Hades. The Nereids – Amphitrite, in particular – had encouraged him to believe this. So now, all they had to do was suggest, and wait.
*
Poseidon roamed the sea, restless and irritable. He had nothing to enjoy, and nothing to look forward to. He counted his recent disappointments: the dullness of life on Olympus, which he had tried to improve by playing a trick on Hephaestus and Athene. But it had failed. The blacksmith god had not realized it was a joke but had really tried to propose to Poseidon’s niece. None of the gods seemed to know exactly how she had refused him, but it had created a pall over the hallowed halls which would not lift. Hephaestus was wretched and Athene was furious. Poseidon could not share with the other gods that the whole thing had been his idea, because even he could perceive that it would not be seen as a triumph of wit. Athene, he was certain, was planning to get her own back and he didn’t know how she would do so. Would her wrath be directed at Hephaestus alone? Or would the blacksmith have told her that it was Poseidon who had encouraged him? He briefly entertained the thought that Athene might think her uncle was sincere, that he wanted her to marry and thought the pair a good match. But whenever he summoned a memory of her scorn-filled eyes, he knew this was unlikely. He wasn’t afraid of her, obviously. But he was queasily aware that if she turned her anger in his direction, he might not emerge entirely unscathed.
And then there was his disappointment that the Gorgon girl had not been dazzled by his wit or humbled by his power. Yes, he had taken her, but there had been little satisfaction in it. She hadn’t enjoyed the game, or admired him, or given him anything of herself at all. She had made a choice to save the mortal girls from their deaths, and Poseidon – who he was and what he ruled and how he felt – hadn’t entered her mind. He was a force of destruction to her, and nothing more. It had left him feeling angry and empty. Why did no one care about his feelings?
He regretted the whole encounter now. The girl had disappeared from his view once he’d raped her. He didn’t even know if she was back with her sisters: there was no sign of her from the water. And that brought him to the next thing he was upset about: his shrinking ocean. He did not know how the Gorgons had done it, but somehow they had pushed his domain back, away from their shore and their cave. And though he had complained to Zeus that his kingdom had been diminished and that he had been insulted, his brother had displayed no real concern. Anyway, going to Olympus had been tiresome because his niece was staring knives at him whenever he caught sight of her. He had no idea what had made her so sour, nor did he see why he should ask. But this was why he had decided to play his trick on Hephaestus. And even that had backfired. Every simple pleasure was denied him.