Pandora Gets Greedy (4 page)

“Aphrodite is lucky Zeus has been just a little more involved in this whole mess lately. But for that alone, Aphro will be fortunate if she's only turned into an oil lamp. Why, indeed! Such a no-go, Bro.”

“But how does Zeus or Jupiter, or whoever, know that this is the last possible moment? I have been having so much fun …
not
… with all my Greek relatives visiting here in Rome that I just haven't been thinking too much about Pandora and the exact reason that everyone has made the trip. Jupiter has had me flying all over the place, dropping off welcome baskets and heated Roman bath towels, delivering messages and the like. Busy, busy.”

Mercury stepped to the wall and waved his arm. Instantly, Hermes saw everything that Mercury had been doing.

Aphrodite deciding that she wanted a dark-haired slave boy for her foot massage while
Venus emphatically insisted on having a blond…. Mercury nodding furiously.

Mars demanding a sparring partner well versed in the broadsword at the same time Ares demanded a knife fight.

“It never matters what they use, they just end up trying to kill each other,” Mercury said as the scene shifted again.

Athena, in the food-preparation room, trying to talk to Mercury about Plato when Minerva walked in and started talking about Cicero. Then both goddesses turning on Mercury, saying that they actually wanted to talk
to
Cicero.

“And I have to
find
the poor man, wake him up.” Mercury sighed. “It's endless. It's hard enough being messenger to my immortal Roman brothers and sisters; now I have to handle our Greek doubles! Two goddesses of the harvest, of the hunt, of wisdom, et cetera. Two gods of wine, of healing, of the oceans, blah, blah, bleck. So you probably know more than I do at this point, even though you've been having an easy time of it; off eating spiced lamb and other exotic
eastern delights, making sure no one digs up a few pairs of sandals.”

“I know, I know, pal, and I'm grateful you've been handling the menial parts of ‘our' job,” Hermes said. “Zeus wanted to get everybody off Olympus for a bit; change of scenery, it's true. But the Greek contingent is really here to help if it's necessary. Zeus and Jupiter aren't certain what's going on, they just know that she's been here exactly nineteen days. As per Zeus and Jupiter's instructions, I placed Pandora and pals in the home of Lucius Valerius …”

“He's a senator,” Mercury cut in. “And a good one from what I am told. Generous, smart. Nice-looking wife.”

“Yes,” Hermes continued, “well, smart he may be, but it didn't take much to cast a spell over his entire household to make everyone think that Pandora, Alcestis, and Homer had been house slaves for years. They fit in quite nicely at first.”

“At first,” said Mercury, waving his hand:

A well-fed Roman maiden was making eyes at Homer directly in front of Alcie and Pandy.

“Do you not find me attractive, slave boy? Me, Rufina, a senator's daughter?”

Homer began to turn red and gag slightly.

“You Romans and your Roman ways,” Hermes said. “Sheesh! Even the maidens!”

“It's the same in Greece!”

“But we're much more civilized about it—about everything. Do you ever watch your worshippers? How far they take everything? The excess? And how much they
eat
! And
then
what they do?”

Mercury looked hurt, Hermes recognized it at once.

“I don't think it's necessary to disparage our entire general populace. I know we have some bad eggs here and there, but we're doing all right for hovering on the verge of being
the greatest empire in the known world
, thank you very much!”

Hermes laughed.

“One of 'em anyway. So Rufina takes one look at Homer and decides he's the oatie cake she wants on her plate. But then, when she saw how Homer and Alcie looked at each other, she convinced her father to …”

“Right, right!” Mercury interrupted, waving on the scene:

Lucius Valerius, a gray-haired man of imposing stature, was handing Homer over to several men in the dead of night. Rufina was standing at the top of a staircase, a giant smirk on her face.

“Do I have your word you will make a champion out of him?” Lucius said. “I may safely wager on him as my prized warrior?”

“You have our word, Senator!” one man replied. “Or he'll be dead within the week.”

“Then I'll want my money back!” barked Lucius.

“Right!” Hermes cut in. “So that's where Homer is now. Pandora and Alcie have no idea where he's gone and have been out of their minds with worry and work.”

“And they don't see Iole very often because she's become a …”

“Vestal Virgin,” Hermes said. “I was completely unprepared for that. I miscalculated when I materialized them all into the household and Iole ended up in the … what do you call it?”

“I just call it the Vestal's room,” Mercury said.

“Well, with the spell of familiarity on the entire house she became the Vestal, junior class, no questions asked. You know, we have priestesses back home in Greece, and they're important—very sacred. But they don't seem to have quite the importance that yours do here in Rome.”

“Oh, you bet!” said Mercury. “Vestals are tops! If they happen to be walking about on the streets, they can
pardon, on the spot, someone condemned to death and on his way to be lion food. But you'd better not touch 'em. Bad news. What about the dog?”

“Dido was protected under the same spell as the girls. Lucius's wife, Varinia, loves him; thinks he's been their pet for years. He's on a long tether in the back garden and she sends out the best of the table scraps after every meal. Pandora is with him as often as possible.”

“So,” Mercury said. “She's got five evils in the box; pretty close to the end of her quest.”

“Yeah, but this one seems to have her stumped. And to make matters worse, she can't concentrate on it because of all the preparations she and Alcestis have to help with for the big celebration.”

“Well, it's not every day Rome gets a new ruler,” Mercury added. “Big doings. And Julius Caesar's no ordinary mortal. He started what amounted to a civil war in these parts and then, completely defying logic and all his advisors, he took his troops across the river Rubicon and beat the togas off Pompey and his men, basically destroying a treaty that said Caesar, Pompey, and some other general would split everything three ways. Done and done. Then he just crowned himself ruler of Rome and on and on and on.”

“I like him,” Hermes said thoughtfully.

“Me too.”

“He's a doer. He gets things done.”

“Gotta respect.”

“Gotta.”

“So,” Mercury went on, “a week ago, Caesar declared the start of a period of celebration and heavy-duty feasting which will conclude with a really big blowout in a few days at the home of Valerius. All of Rome is buzzing with who's going to be invited, what to wear, and some such nonsense.”

“That's gonna be some bill!” Hermes snorted.

“I wouldn't want to pay it.”

“And that, my brother from another mother, is why Zeus wants me to start bringing the Hera parts to Rome. He and Jupiter have decided that
all
the immortals are going to the final feast.”

“So then, Pandora has nothing regarding …?”

“Greed? Nope, not yet. She's been scrubbing floors and washing Rufina's hair, gabbing with Alcie and sometimes Iole. Everybody got caught up on various adventures in the underworld and Persia, they kidded Pandora about the young boy, Douban, who likes her so much, and all of them put their heads together about where Greed might be hiding. At night, she told everything to her wolfskin diary, and then, one day Pandora tried to call her father back in Athens on her shell …”

“Oh no!” Mercury said.

“Oh yes,” Hermes replied.

“But doesn't Pandora know that they've all traveled …?”

“No, of course she doesn't know. None of them know. Why would they? I haven't told her what happened when I brought her here. My orders were to get her settled and am-scray. And I haven't seen her since. And, these kids have never seen Rome before. And it hasn't changed that much in …”

“Well … not so's you'd notice anyway,” Mercury assented.

“And when she couldn't talk to her father, she became so depressed. Then Homer was sent away and Pandora just had the wind slowly knocked out of her, day by day. Now, she's basically ignoring the whole reason she's here. Everyone has noticed. Ares said, offhandedly, that he thinks she's given up. Athena got so mad at him, she turned his head into a boil and popped it with a meat spit.”

“Why don't you at least tell her about her father and the …?” Mercury began.

“Because Zeus thinks it shouldn't be that big a deal. Prometheus is one man and, as far as Zeus is concerned, Pandora is fighting to save all of mankind.”

“You know Pandora almost better than anyone,” Mercury said. “What do you think?”

Hermes was silent for a moment.

“I don't think she's given up, but she's definitely lost focus. And she's depressed; she's almost too discouraged to even panic.”

“She's tired,” Mercury said.

“I know. But if she thought it was bad before, I cannot imagine how she's fared at the Forum.”

“Oh, right … the entire household has gone to the Forum to see the …”

“Right,” Hermes agreed.

“It's probably gotten worse,” Mercury said.

“Much.”

In her tiny, windowless room—a closet hastily but unquestioningly converted into sleeping quarters when she appeared in the household—Iole sat in front of the small looking glass. In the light of the single candle, she carefully dipped the large, soft brush in the pot of colored powder and dabbed at her cheeks. Without warning, the brush slipped out of her grasp and left a reddish streak across her chin. As she fumbled for a cloth to wipe it away, she knocked over a pot of silver powder and watched it settle onto her ceremonial robe. She wiped the red streak off her face then stood and carefully shook out her garments. Sitting down again, she dipped a smaller brush in a pot of black kohl paste and tried to line her eyelids, but only succeeded in looking like the wrestlers back at the Apollo Youth Academy in Athens when they got punched in the eye. Again she
tried wiping it away, but only smeared it all over her face along with the red powder already on the cloth. Iole wiped her hands, deciding to let the black paste dry a bit, and dipped her forefinger into a little tub of red goo. She smeared it on her mouth, then smacked her lips together. When she smiled, most of the goo slid off her lips and onto her teeth.

“Gods,” she said, wiping her teeth with the cloth and turning them black. “This is simply not the avocation for me.”

“Iole!” came a call from the corridor. “They'll be here any moment. Are you ready to go?”

Melania sailed into the cramped room and Iole caught the woman's dim reflection in the glass. She was dressed in white from head to toe, her golden hair done up with combs, pins, and veils, and her face painted so heavily but so beautifully that she could have rivaled Aphrodite. And Melania had something even the great Aphrodite didn't have: a sound to her movements. Whenever she walked, there was a slight tinkle, as if tiny bells were ringing off somewhere.

Melania, the head Vestal Virgin assigned to the house of Lucius Valerius, was the closest thing to physical perfection in a human that Iole had ever seen, and that included Pandy's mother, Sybilline—who was pretty perfect. The only thing that marred Melania's
perfection now was the hint of a scowl that crossed her face when she looked at Iole. She stood in the doorway and stretched out her arms, as if she were helpless against an onslaught of frustration. Iole was completely spellbound by this stunning creature, as if she had come up on a doe in the forest and just wanted to stare for hours. In fact, as far as Iole was concerned, Melania was even
more
beautiful than Aphrodite or her Roman counterpart, Venus.

“Let me guess. You don't like being the junior Vestal in the Valerius household and you have decided to run away and join the theatre? No? You're going to entertain the grotesque populace between gladiator fights? No? Oh, I
know
: you're joining the circus!”

Iole just slumped where she sat.

“I can't seem to get the hang of it,” she said softly. “All these pots and brushes. I don't know which to use for what. Also … I am finding it rather arduous to see in the dark. Perhaps another candle? Just a bit more light …?”

“Nonsense! I have taught you everything you need to know to adorn yourself even if your eyes were plucked from their sockets!”

Iole was horrified. The Romans, she had learned in her few weeks among them, seemed to tend toward the bloody and brutal before they thought of anything
else. Athenians, she remembered with a pang of homesickness, were of a loftier mindset whereas these people, even the supposedly high-minded VVs, were just … gory.

“You have an undeveloped but innate ability,” Melania went on. “You simply lack any real creativity—or form—or desire, I'm guessing. That's fine I suppose. There are Vestals who wear no makeup to be sure … although no one likes to be around them. Or pardoned by them. Or counseled or prayed for by them. Look at you, Iole. You are a beautiful maiden. At least, you are underneath all that paint. Why do you think you were chosen from among most young girls to take on this responsibility? To attend the College of the Vestals? Which is your household of origin, again? I can't seem to remember.”

“Uhhhh,” Iole hesitated.