Pandora Gets Heart (5 page)

CHAPTER SIX
Odd Jobs

After finding Homer a clean white serving toga (size extra-large, and it was still a little tight), Hypatia led him over to the main wine bar in the great hall of King Peleus’s palace.

“You’ll work here, behind this bar,” Hypatia said, her eyes bulging out of her razor-thin face. Her voice was crisp and she pronounced her words slowly and perfectly. “You will speak to no one except to say that we are serving four delightful wines. A hearty red with a hint of oak and berries. A lighter red, slightly brassy, with a touch of lavender. An amusing pink with lashings of citrus and cedar. And finally a white with hints of fern and a sassy, naughty attitude! The wineskins are not labeled because that would be tacky, so get familiar with each one before the guests arrive. Get them confused, and I will have you flogged. I’ll send someone to help you.”

Homer, having said nothing, watched her walk away, then he bent underneath the bar to inspect the wineskins.

Several minutes later, he heard a voice above him calling hello. Raising his head, he collided with the bar and lifted it off its base.

“Oh, hey! Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you! Here, let me help.”

A slender, brown-haired youth of about Homer’s age rushed to grab one end of the marble bar and set it back in place.

“Thanks,” said Homer, rubbing his head.

“I’m Dimitris of Cyphus.”

“Homer of Crisa.”

“Crisa? Huh. Never heard of it.”

Homer suddenly realized that there was a very strong chance that Crisa hadn’t yet been established as a thriving seaport.

“It’s small.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you,” Dimitris said. “The skinny woman who looks like a chicken said you’d tell me everything I need to know.”

“Oh, okay. Well, there are, like, four wines. One tastes like a flower, two taste like trees, and the last one has a bad attitude. And you can’t talk to anybody.” Iole, who had been standing in a corner of the bridal dressing room for twenty minutes, was somewhat surprised (and a little pleased) to learn that, even after all her adventures and everything she had witnessed in the last few months, she still had the capacity to be . . . shocked. After she had dressed in a fresh toga and run a damp cloth over her grimy arms and legs, Ireneus had all but shoved her into the bridal dressing suite. It was a beehive of activity; half a dozen maidens, clothed just like Iole, were rushing around the edges of the rooms with goblets and ewers of water and wine, plates of delicacies, and armloads of clothing. She was almost knocked over as two maidens raced up to Demeter (whom Iole recognized by Pandy’s description of her ever-changing hair), who was reclining next to Calliope, the muse of epic poetry, and Euterpe, the muse of lyric poetry, on a divan close to the bride’s dressing table. The maidens presented Demeter with two different golden outer robes for the bride to wear. Demeter chose one and the girls ran off again.

Initially Iole had tried to help. She called to the passing girls as they rushed by but was told to just stay out of the way, so now she stood, almost motionless, mesmerized by the real activity in the center of the room.

Four of the most beautiful, pale-skinned nymphs Iole had ever seen stood in a wide semicircle around the seated bride, Silver-Footed Thetis. In the center of this semicircle was a giant slow-spinning vortex: brushes, pins, combs, red-hot hair irons, tiny clips, pots of hair wax, and all manner of decorative hair jewels and accessories were whirling through the air. With a mere flick of their fingers, the nymphs would send a brush or a comb to do their bidding. At a gesture from one nymph, Thetis’s long, silver hair swept itself up into an intricate pile of curls and dangling ringlets. Not liking the style, the nymph let it fall. Then they braided the hair and coiled it like a serpent on top of Thetis’s head. Again, the nymphs shook their heads and the hair cascaded down Thetis’s shoulders. Up, down, poofy, flat . . . style after style they tried, as Demeter and the muses called out suggestions. Iole watched all of this, entranced. But what truly amazed her was the bride herself.

Thetis sat at her dressing table before an enormous mirror, sobbing like a child who had just been spanked.

She was surrounded by everything any goddess could desire on her wedding day: dozens of pots, jars, bottles, and bowls. There were smoothing creams, colored powders for her eyes, crushed berries for her cheeks and lips, black kohl for her lids, and several glorious perfumes. There were resplendent golden garments (the traditional color, Iole knew, of every bride on her wedding day), willing handmaidens, and a celebration on the horizon. And yet, by Iole’s reckoning, the bride was a complete and utter mess.

“I . . . just . . . just . . . don’t understand why I had to get . . .
m-m-married
!” she wailed. No one in the room was actually paying any attention to Thetis’s cries, concentrating more on simply getting her ready to walk through the hall.

“Huh?” she choked. “C-c-could someone just exp-p-plain that to me?”

“Because Hera wanted it and Zeus decreed it, darling,” Demeter said, not looking away from the maiden at her feet and the two girdles she was deciding between. “Amethysts . . . hmmm? They
are
royal, but for the final unveiling, I’m just not seeing it. Let’s go with the diamonds, shall we? Gold with diamonds. Elegant and tasteful.”

“Thetis,” Euterpe said, “didn’t we all have fun last night at your proaulia? Huh? The feast your father held was a wonderful kickoff! The food was great, all your sisters were there, and you made some wonderful sacrifices to Artemis, Aphrodite, and Hera.”

Iole knew they were talking about the first evening of what would be a three-day event and wondered what Thetis had offered up to the goddesses to ease her transition into marriage and child-rearing.

“And Peleus’s sacrificing a bull to Zeus was a nice touch,” Calliope said.

“Oh, G-G-Gods! Zeus!” Thetis wailed. “I thought he l-l-loved me!”

“Yes, sweetheart, but there is a tiny problem in that he’s
already married
,” Demeter said, rolling her eyes.

“You and Peleus were so lovely together at today’s feast. And I think that puffy wedding planner was smart to insist on having a little rest. I’m enjoying the changes she’s made to the traditional ceremony. But now you’ve made the procession to this nice, big palace, the guests are gathering again, and all you have left is for your father to hand you over to Peleus and then the formal unveiling,” Calliope said.

“You’re practically home free!” Euterpe sang out. “And don’t forget tomorrow—your epaulia! Lots and lots of presents!”

“I say the sandals with bronze and copper tones,” Demeter said, looking at several pairs. “They’ll show off her silver feet. Girls? What do you say?”

Euterpe and Calliope agreed. Thetis let out a particularly loud cry, and Euterpe, who was known for being almost deliriously chipper no matter what the occasion, decided to try change the subject.

“Peleus is marvelously handsome, Thetis,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t tell the Supreme Ruler that I said this, but I think he’s handsomer than Zeus! Just think of the adorable children you’ll have!”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!”

It was at this moment that Iole decided Lust was nowhere in this room. No one (especially the bride) was displaying a burning desire for anything.

“Oh hush, Thetis,” Calliope said. “Rubies and pearls at the neck, thank you, maiden. Thetis, it’s already been foretold. You’re giving birth to heroes . . . at least one, so buck up!”

At this, Thetis seemed to calm down a touch. She popped numerous sticks of clove-and-nutmeg chewing sap into her mouth and sat chomping away for a minute.

“Heroes, huh?”

“That’s what we’ve heard, my dear,” said Calliope.

“Well, it’s a nice consolation prize, I guess. And you know what? I had already picked out a couple of cute baby names for when Zeus and I . . . I . . . oh . . .”

She began to sniffle.

“Don’t start in crying again, honey!” Euterpe called. “You’ll run the rest of that kohl right down your face. Let’s hear those names!”

“Well, I’ve always liked Carpus or Cleon for boys.”

Completely involuntarily, Iole gasped hard, and before she knew what she was doing, opened her mouth. “NO!”

Every eye in the room turned to look at the little dark-haired maiden standing in the corner.

Although she was thinking faster than she ever had, even Iole simply could not come up with a way to cover her blunder. There was no hope of saying something like, “Oh! I just meant, ‘Oh, that’s great!’ ” Her objection had been too loud and too distinct.

“You have a better idea, servant?” asked Thetis.

Iole knew, and she was the only in the room who did, that Thetis was destined to mother perhaps the greatest of Greek heroes, next to Hercules.

“Yes,” she said clearly, realizing that it was a celebration day, after all, and they probably wouldn’t kill her . . . maybe just torture her a bit. “Yes, I do. Um. A beautiful goddess and a great king who will have a strong and powerful heir should have a strong and powerful name. I . . . uh . . . on my way here, I stopped at the Oracle at Delphi.”

Several ohs went through the room.

“That’s
right
! Very important. And the high priestess agreed to see me. I told her I was coming here. And she offered, through me, to you . . . as a gift on your wedding day . . . the name of your most famous child.”

“Yes?” Thetis asked.

“Achilles.”

The name rippled through the crowd and everyone nodded her head. Even Demeter, Calliope, and Euterpe seemed pleased.

“Why didn’t she tell one of my guests—one of the important ones? Why did the high priestess tell
you
?” Thetis asked, arching one eyebrow.

“I . . . have absolutely no idea,” Iole said.

Thetis paused, gazing darkly at Iole. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. It
is
better than Cleon, I suppose.”

Everyone softly agreed.

“Okay, I like it. And just for that, you can carry the ends of Demeter’s hair as she walks before me . . . whoever you are.”

“Huh?” Pandy replied.

“The look? You look more worried than normal.”

“Oh. I’m just hoping I hid my pouch enough.”

“Puh-leeze!” Then Alcie dropped her voice. “It’s in a corner of the cave, your toga and robe are on top, and all my stuff is on top of that!”

“And I made sure that the hem of your robe is the first thing anyone would touch because you got a little horse poop on it . . . so, yeah, I guess we’re good.”

“Okay, didn’t know. Thanks for
that
info,” Alcie said, then nodded to Pandy’s silver tray. “So what have you got?”

“Flatbread points with yogurt and fish eggs, grape leaves stuffed with minced pheasant, and wild boar meatballs. What’d they give you?”

The girls were marching from Chiron’s cave toward the palace in a long line of servants, each carrying silver trays of tasty hot and cold tidbits.

“Soup,” Alcie said, trying to keep her covered tray steady. “I have lots of tiny bowls of egg-and-lemon soup. And I think I’ve spilled most of it.”

Coming out of a dense thicket on either side of the path, they walked alongside a high wall for many meters, turned to the left, flanked another wall, passed a small bronze plaque that read SERVANT’S ENTRANCE, then finally ascended a wide set of marble stairs to a back terrace.

“Blood oranges!” whispered Alcie.

The enormous white marble palace of King Peleus towered above them, gleaming in the sunlight. There were so many levels Pandy quickly lost count. There were at least thirty terraces and balconies; hundreds of hanging plants; dozens of long porticos; gold tiles on many of the roofs; grassy walkways; brilliantly colored gardens; and fountains and statues featuring heroes, gods, and goddesses everywhere. On this day, every statue was adorned with a laurel wreath, and huge garlands of wildflowers hung over every entrance. As Pandy and Alcie walked along an outer path on the western side, they saw little children wearing crowns of acorns and nuts, standing along a center path with baskets of bread, ready to hand out pieces to the arriving guests as symbols of the offspring Thetis and Peleus would have. In unison, the children were uttering the traditional words, “I fled worse and found better.”