All but one …
The goat-footed god PAN skipped around his band of satyrs, fauns, dryads and hamadryads, piping a tune so raucous to the gods’ ears that Hermes was sent out from the cave to command his wild son, in Zeus’s name, to stop.
‘That’s better,’ said Hermes ruffling the coarse fur that curled between the horns on Pan’s head. ‘Now we can all enjoy the privilege of hearing Apollo fumble with my lyre.’fn24
The Oceanids and Nereids were closest to the cave’s mouth. One of their own was being wed to a mortal hero, which was nothing – many sea nymphs had married Titans and even gods – but never had such an alliance been honoured by the presence of all the deities.
All but one …
The gods had bestowed glorious presents upon the couple. Of especial note were a pair of magnificent horses, Balius and Xanthus, the gift of the sea god Poseidon.fn25 Balius, the dapple grey, and Xanthus, his bay twin, were grazing outside the cave when the sound of a sudden clanging made them start up and whinny in alarm.
HESTIA, goddess of the hearth and home, was sounding the gong to announce the start of the ceremony. A hush descended. The gods settled themselves; those in the front row who had turned round to speak to those behind now faced forward and adopted expressions of solemn intent. Hera smoothed her gown. Zeus sat more erectly, his head and chin raised so that his beard pointed towards the cave’s entrance. As if following, all within the cave turned their heads in the same direction.
The nymphs held their breath. The whole world held its breath. How glorious were the gods, how majestic, how powerful, how perfect.
Arm in arm Thetis and Peleus walked slowly in. The bridal couple, as bridal couples always do, outshone every guest – even the very gods of Olympus – for this, their brief starring moment.
Prometheus, at the back of the cave, was hardly able to watch. His prophetic mind could not foresee in detail what the future held, but he felt sure that this gathering would be the last of its kind. The very grandeur and glory of the ceremony could only betoken some kind of collapse. The moment when flowers and fruits are at their fullest and ripest is the moment that precedes their fall, their decay, their rot, their death. Prometheus felt the coming of a storm. He could not say how or why, but he knew that this wedding feast was somehow a part of it and that the child of Peleus and Thetis, would be a part of it too. The coming storm smelled metallic, as the air always does before thunder. It smelled of copper and tin. Mortal blood smelled of copper and tin too. Copper and tin. Bronze. The metal of war. In his head Prometheus heard the sound of bronze clashing on bronze and saw blood raining down over all. Yet outside the cave the sky was blue and every face except his own was bright with joy.
All but the twelve Olympians now rose to their feet as Peleus and Thetis came through the mouth of the cave, the one smiling proudly, the other with head cast sweetly down.
I think too much, Prometheus told himself. It’s no more than a headache. Look how happy they all are, all the immortals.
All?
Prometheus could not rid his mind of the idea that there was one missing …
Hestia anointed the bridal couple with oils while Apollo’s son Hymenaios sang in praise of the gods and the bliss of matrimony. No sooner had Hera sat down after blessing the union than a commotion was heard at the mouth of the cave. The crowd of nymphs and dryads outside tumbled apart in a flurry of confusion as the one deity who had not been invited strode through. The form was silhouetted in the entrance but Prometheus recognized her at once – ERIS, goddess of strife, feuding, discord and disarray. He understood that to have invited her to a wedding feast would have been to court upset. But not to have invited her, surely that was to court disaster too?
The congregation parted as Eris stalked down to face the semicircle of enthroned Olympians. She put a hand inside her cloak. Something round and bright rolled along the ground and stopped at the feet of Zeus. She turned and left the way she had come, through the crowd of frozen and dumbfounded guests. She had not uttered a word. So swift and sudden were Eris’s entrance and exit that some in the cave wondered if they might have imagined it. But the object at Zeus’s feet was real enough. What could it be?
Zeus leaned down to pick it up. It was an apple. A golden apple.fn26
Zeus turned it over carefully in his hands.
Hera looked over his shoulder. ‘There is writing on it,’ she said sharply. ‘What does it say?’
Zeus frowned and peered closely at the golden surface of the apple. ‘It says, “To the Fairest.”’fn27
‘“To the Fairest”? Eris honours me greatly.’ Hera put out her hand.
Zeus was about to pass the apple obediently to his wife when a low voice murmured on his other side.
‘The world will agree, Hera, that the apple must surely be mine.’ The grey eyes of Athena locked with the brown eyes of Hera.
A silver ripple of laughter came from behind them both as Aphrodite stretched out her hand to Zeus. ‘Let us not be foolish. There is only one to whom the words “To the Fairest” could possibly apply. Give me the apple, Zeus, for it can be meant for no one else.’
Zeus dropped his head and vented a deep sigh. How could he choose between his beloved and powerful wife Hera, his adored favourite child Athena, and his aunt, the powerful goddess of love herself, Aphrodite? He clutched the apple tight and wished he could be somewhere else.
‘Cheer up, father.’ Hermes came before him, leading a reluctant Ares. ‘What you need is someone we can all trust to make the decision and award the apple on your behalf, yes? Well, it so happens that we met just such a person not long ago, didn’t we, Ares? A young man of honest, impartial and unimpeachably reliable judgement.’
Zeus stared. ‘Who?’
THE QUEEN’S DREAM
To find out who, we have to travel across the Aegean Sea and back once more to the plain of Ilium. We left Troy, you remember, a smouldering ruin. The male line of Ilus, Tros and Laomedon had been expunged by the vengeful forces of Heracles and Telamon. Only the youngest, Podarces, had escaped the slaughter. In letting Podarces live – or Priam, as the world now called him – Heracles had spared a remarkable prince who had grown into an outstanding ruler.
Within the magnificent shell of the great walls and gates constructed by Apollo and Poseidon, Priam had set about rebuilding Troy around the site of the temple of the Palladium which, out of respect for Athena, Heracles and Telamon had also spared. Priam revealed himself to be a natural leader with a passion for detail and a deep understanding of the workings of trade and exchange – what we would call today economics, commerce and finance. The city’s place at the mouth of the Hellespont – the straits through which all sea traffic to and from the east were obliged by geography to pass – afforded Troy tremendous opportunities for enrichment, opportunities that King Priam seized with acumen and an astute intelligence. The tolls and tariffs rolled in and the kingdom grew in greatness and prosperity. Even if it were not for the wealth generated from trade with foreign kingdoms, Troy would have been prosperous enough on account of the fertility of the land around Mount Ida. The cattle, goats and sheep on its slopes provided milk, cheese and meat, and the lowland fields fed by the rivers Cebren, Scamander and Simoeis filled the barns, silos and storehouses every year with more than enough grain, olives and fruit to ensure that no Trojan ever went hungry.