Medusa, A Love Story (Loves of Olympus 1)

Xerxes had fled after the defeat at Salamis. And though much of Greece had battles still to be fought, he knew the tide had turned. Whatever hold Xerxes had upon them, the Panhellenic League – Athens and her allies – would make certain to crush it soon.

Now Athens needed its people, to rebuild and restore its grandeur. It needed to rally and stoke the fires of victory before another campaign began. A campaign he would gladly learn about when such news found its way to his father’s home, on sunny Rhodes.

“Pamphilos.” Ariston shook his second’s shoulder, rousing him. “Let us be gone with the sun.”

Pamphilos peered at him from between swollen lids. “Your lady inspires a great deal of enthusiasm, Ariston. She must be beautiful…or fearsome,” he teased, laughing.

Ariston held his hand out, pulling his second to his feet. “She is fearsomely beautiful. With a heart more lovely still.”

Pamphilos arched an eyebrow. “You’ve not been married long?”

Ariston laughed. “No, friend, I had two nights with my wife before our battle off Athens’ shore.”

“And then we sailed on to Salamis?” Pamphilos smiled. “I envy you your homecoming.”

Ariston nodded. “As well you should.”

“I’ll pray to the Gods your stitches hold.” Pamphilos laughed.

Ariston laughed too.

Would she run to him?

He shook his head as he climbed aboard the trireme, a smile upon his face. Even readying the ship did little to dampen his joy. Once they were at sea, he relaxed. He wasn’t the only husband on this ship, for many had left a wife or family when they’d set off to fight. He watched the men, wondering if any felt anticipation as sweetly as he did.

There was no shame in it, this need for her.

Fear would not rule him, though it crept upon him in moments of weakness. He could not help but worry. Had Poseidon changed her?

They need never speak of it, nor would he ask her what happened. If she needed to tell him, he would listen – and hoped he could offer her the support she might need. But he would never ask her to relive it.

His hands fisted and he pulled the sails’ lashing tight, ignoring the burn of the ropes across his palms.

Would she still want him or set him aside from shame?

Or had she gone with Poseidon? He swallowed. If she’d gone, she had no choice in the matter.

No. He would not let his mind twist his heart with such thoughts.

She was waiting for him on Aegina. She would welcome him with open arms, he knew this.

And he loved her more deeply. Whatever she’d endured or submitted to, she’d done it for him. He would do the same for her. He would do whatever he had to for her safety. Nothing mattered more to him.

As long as he had her love, there was nothing more he needed or wanted.

They had time to live and love. He prayed his face was well-lined and his hair all but gone before he found himself kneeling before Hades again.

Whatever time he had with her, he would be thankful for it.

The voyage was tiresome. The crew chafed to get there, as did Ariston. But choppy seas and blustering winds tossed them about, setting them on Aegina’s coast at dusk.

The docks and shore were covered in the tents of Athens’ refugees. People, hundreds of women and children, came out to greet the returning heroes with cries of joy and pride. Ariston’s heart grew unsteady and his gaze searched the crowd for one glimpse of flashing blue eyes or honey locks.

As the crew tossed ropes down from the trireme, the dock master clambered up to the deck.

He clasped forearms with Ariston. “Welcome home, heroes of Athens. I am Kallistratos of Aegina, and I am at your service.”

“We thank you for your welcome, Kallistratos. I am Ariston of Rhodes, an Ekdromos for Athens. How fare our Athenians?” Ariston noted the slight twitch of the man’s mouth and waited.