Discord's Apple

Sinon had an urge to prostrate himself before that throne, to pray as he never had in his life, not even in battle. He clenched his fists.

Apollo turned to him and whispered, “You’d bow to Zeus but not to me?”

Sinon nodded. His voice shook. “He’s Zeus. The Father.”

“Yes, he is.”

When Zeus sat, the others took the signal to make their way to their own chairs. The servants disappeared, except for the personal slaves of each of the gods, who lurked unobtrusively behind the chairs. Most of the gods had servants. A pair of girls waited on Artemis. Aphrodite had an army of maidens. (Sinon knew she was Aphrodite—he could barely look at her, she shone so brightly.) Hermes, the man with wings on his sandals, didn’t have any. Nor did Zeus himself.

Sinon tried to name them all: Hephaestus, who slumped in his chair over a twisted leg; Athena, the regal woman with the gray eyes and piercing gaze; Ares, who snarled at everyone around him.

The minor deities sat on the stone benches carved into the hill, around the outside of the circle. One of the chairs of the inner circle was empty.

The goddess who sat closest to Zeus was not the most beautiful, but she was striking. Sinon looked past her once, but found himself drawn back to her, until he could look at no one else. There was a gravity to her, much like the aura of authority that clung to Zeus. Her dark curling hair was piled on her head in a queenly fashion, respectable, admirable. Her gown was elegant, her jewels tasteful. This, then, was Hera.

Zeus spoke. Sinon expected his voice to break the silence like thunder. Instead, it was calm. It held the weight of authority without the storm.

“Athena, speak your grievance.”

Athena stood. She was tall—taller than Sinon. He remembered she was a warrior goddess. She looked like she feared nothing.

“I come to plead on behalf of Odysseus the Ithacan. For ten long years, he has been the plaything of our anger, our rivalries. We should have been done with such pettiness at Troy. Instead, our bickering continues, scattering the Greeks across the oceans. Ten years have passed since Odysseus left Troy. It is time for him to return home. I would enlist your help to make this so.”

Ten years.

He had been enslaved to Apollo for ten years. But he didn’t feel any different than he had that night in Agamemnon’s tent, when they planned the horse—

He crouched and whispered in Apollo’s ear. “Ten years? It’s been ten years?”

Apollo said, “Yes. And every one of Odysseus’s men has died on the journey home. I saved your life, enslaving you. Now be quiet.”

Athena continued. “He is being held captive by the nymph Calypso. My King Zeus, one word from you, and she would release him. He could go home, after all this time.”

Odysseus, also held captive. And all his men dead. Sinon nearly wept for his friend. Odysseus would have taken to hea

rt every one of those deaths.

Hera leaned forward, smiling sweetly. “I observe that you petition us now, when Poseidon is absent.” She nodded at the empty chair.

“An astute observation, my lady. It’s no secret, he hates Odysseus and would never consent to easing his path home. But he cannot oppose a decision that we all agree to. So I ask for aid now.”

Ares stood. “He is a Greek. I oppose them on principle.”

Athena raised an eyebrow, looking like she was exercising patience. “That was a long time ago. Troy is gone now.”

“Because of Odysseus. Why should I help him?”

“You don’t have to help him. Just don’t hinder him any longer.”

A pleasant soft-featured woman with hair the color of wheat—Demeter?—leaned forward. “Is he in any danger? Is Calypso mistreating him?”

“Only by keeping him prisoner.”

“Then why not let him be? Why interfere?”

“Because he longs for home more than anything. Have pity on him!” Athena said, pleading with a closed fist.

Aphrodite laughed, a sound like bells. “It’s true, isn’t it? You do love him! The one man you’ve ever encountered who might actually be cleverer than you!”