Trojan Gold

Sultry Summers

TROJAN GOLD BY SULTRY SUMMERS

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TROJAN GOLD Copyright © 2006 by Sultry Summers ISBN: 1-59836-264-X Cover Art © 2006 by DL Taylor Cover Model Evan Scott All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America. For information, you can find us on the web at www.VenusPress.com

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Dedication:

To my own Apollo of thirty-four years, who loves me, supports me and makes each day as bright as Apollo’s golden chariot, drawn anew each day through the heavens.

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Weeping, my little one? There, there. You cannot know what waits for you. How will it be? Falling down—down—all broken— And none to pity. Kiss me. Never again. Come closer, closer. Your mother who bore you—put your arms around my neck. Now kiss me, lips to lips. Iliad, Homer.

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Chapter One

Smoldering ashes, great Troy lay in waste, the gods’ faces turned away. Silence hung over the deserted ruins, not even the crows made noise fighting over the corpses. There was enough for all. An old woman bent from age and hardship walked among the dead. Decrepit and infirmed, the few Greeks that remained paid her little heed. Fearing the wrath of the gods, none would chance doing injury to one already so burdened by the fates. Leaning on her cane for support, she wept, not for the dead soldiers, but for the babes, perfect in form, cruelly thrown from the heights of the city walls by the victorious Greeks. Innocents left to die, not instantly from their falls, hastened from the injuries they received, still a slow, painful death from exposure. Soldiers, who afforded an enemy a swift death with a quick thrust of their sword, would pass by these suffering innocents. Cursing the soldiers as she passed each small form that had gone to the underworld, she prayed to Apollo that they would find peace. Her cane, not always certain where she placed it, nudged a tiny body and to her shock, it stirred; the child lived! Disbelieving her rheumy eyes at the golden medallion around his neck, she glanced about but kept moving, making sure no one was watching. This one, an enemy would kill by the sword. After a few moments, she wandered back, and stooping over, gathered the precious bundle close into the folds of her clothing. She prayed more earnestly to Apollo now, imploring him to keep the child from crying out, bringing death to them both. Thankfully, the child remained quiet. Not wishing to draw attention to herself, she moved slowly, back toward the hovel where she had found shelter after the fighting and pillaging ceased. Preferring to live alone, unafraid of the ghosts from the war, unlike some of the residents of Troy who had escaped the Greeks and fled, Helle found a habitable dwelling just against the city walls facing the Aegean Sea. 6

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Walking slowly back home, in sight of the now desecrated temple of Apollo, she wondered why the great god of light had not struck down the Greeks for their blasphemy. Apollo had always held her devotion. Permitted some education, common to the class she was born into, she made her wish to enter the temple in service to Apollo known when she was of age. Her father had forbidden “such a waste,” as he put it and promptly arranged a lucrative marriage for her to a man old as he. The marriage had been short and ended badly. Helle wondered if finding the child or the condition of the temple had recalled the specter of that sad, long-buried memory. Reaching the safety of her pillaged dwelling, she unwrapped the child from her robes. He had not only survived the fall from the city walls, but he was unharmed, cushioned by those who had preceded him. The old woman stared in shock, disbelieving her rheumy eyes. The medallion around the infant’s neck confirmed the symbol of the Royal House of Troy. Before her was the son of Prince Hector, Astyanax. The heir of Troy had survived the treachery of the Greeks. Fear struck her. If he was found they both would be killed without mercy. She gazed down at the boy, sunburned and hungry. He had lived through the horrors of war, thrown from the pinnacle of the walls. Helle looked at the baby’s sweet face; he looked so much like his father at that age, it brought back sharp remembrances of caring for the royal children. Knowing Astyanax had survived for a reason and their paths fated to meet, she no longer cared about the dangers. She was old, but she would live long enough to see him grown. Because she had studied with her brothers’ tutors as a child, she was capable of teaching him basic math and language. After escaping a tragic marriage, she had been a caregiver to the Royal children of King Piram when they were small; she knew the history of the house of Troy and could teach Astyanax of his heritage. However, the war had left her poor, a situation not so before. It would be difficult, but she would find a way. She would pray to Apollo, she would have faith, and endure. A sudden knock at her door caused her a terrible fright, her old heart pounding wildly in her chest. Covering the child with a light length of ragged cloth, she called out, “Who’s there?” A tremor in her voice betrayed her fear, worsened by receiving no answer. The knock came again. On shaking legs and with trembling hands, Helle answered the door. 7

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Before her stood a tall, blonde, strikingly handsome warrior, dressed in fine white linen edged in golden embroidery, a golden belt around his waist, and a gold band of laurel leaves upon his head. He held a mahogany, golden tipped spear in one hand and carried a bow of fine silver slung across his broad shoulders. With the radiance of sunlight behind him, he appeared to glow. She gasped, overcome by the brilliance of his appearance, yet fearful of why he came. Did the gods send him to kill the child? “What is it you want?” she demanded boldly, drawing upon courage she had forgotten from her youth—days long past, when as a girl, she trained and learned with her brothers and could wield a sword with the confidence and skill of a young man. Her father had raised her as a boy. She had studied math, and languages, as well as history with her three brothers. Her father enjoyed bragging to the peers of his wealthy merchant class; his daughter could wield a sword equal to any boy her age and her intelligence and logic were better, until the day her link with the moon proved she was a daughter, and then the joke was no longer funny. “Today, you have saved Astyanax, Prince of Troy, old woman,” he said in a strong commanding voice, his deep blue eyes seeming to see into her soul. “Ah—I ah.” She could not answer him. Her courage faltering she wondered how could he know such a fact? “In your heart.” His voice took on a tender timbre, his light touch contacting the spot between her breasts over her heart. He hesitated, amazed at the beauty of her spirit he saw in her soul, but he continued, “Your heart is pure enough to raise him as your own son, yet teach him his heritage–thus he will grow to be a leader of men.” A glow began to radiate from the Golden Warrior, as if the sun was inside him, and it filled her home. In that moment, she realized a blessing from Zeus had passed to her. “But how would you know?” she asked in awe, even more fearful, for she suspected she stood in the presence of the god Apollo. From where he had touched her, a warm glow spread through her body, relieving the aches and pain from years of arthritis. “It is enough your kindness has been noticed by those who reside on Olympus.” His smile waned, a little. “There has been much discord on that High Residence of late…” He did not finish his sentence. He cleared his voice. “Your kindness will be rewarded with a long, happy life.” “I have already lived a long life, though a hard one,” Helle told him. “I only wish to see this lad grown. That I might live long enough to care for him as befits who he is, 8

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that he may reclaim what was stolen from him and…” She stopped, her courage diminished, bowing her head so he did not see the tears in her eyes. “What else is it you wish?” he asked her in a compassionate voice. “That in some way his mother knows he did not die.” The woman sighed sadly, as if the weight of the world was borne on her shoulders, instead of on those of great Atlas. “What makes you worry for his mother?” the Golden Warrior asked her gently, touching her cheek, whisking away a tear. His touch sent a rush of consolation through her, a soothing balm. “Once I had a son who was stolen from me. To this day I know not if he lived or died.” She said it quickly, the pain still as fresh as the day the child disappeared. “She will know, I swear this to you,” he reassured her, then turned to go. The sun grew blindingly bright. Helle shielded her eyes. When the light faded, she uncovered them and he was gone. Stepping back inside her simple shelter supported by a portion of the Great Wall of Troy, she leaned against the closed rickety door. Weak with shock, she drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. Going to the boy, she poured fresh water into a large bowl to bathe the child entrusted to her care. She talked to the boy who smiled back at her and cooed with a new-tooth, drooling smile. Helle took down her small flask of olive oil to anoint him and ease his sunburn. Little oil remained in the small flask, but enough to ease his pain for the night. Tomorrow, she would face her problems then. “What will I feed you, little Prince.” Helle said to the quiet child. She would go hungry herself and give him the small loaf of bread she had saved for her own meal, but he was far too small to eat bread, even a portion soaked in water. Worrying over this serious dilemma, her heart ached for the little fellow as he sucked his fist hungrily. His big blue eyes looked at her trustingly. The sun had all but finished its passage for the day, just touching the blue-green water of the Aegean Sea, when a disturbance outside drew her attention. Astonished, she heard a goat bleating. Slowly going outside, as not to frighten the animal she found a nanny goat, accompanied by her kid, her utters full of milk, enough for her own and Astyanax. “Where did you come from?” she asked the nanny goat. Taught never to deeply question the fates or the gods, she instead began to thank them for their benevolence when an answer to her question startled her. 9

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“Where do you think I came from?” a coarse voice answered her. “Did you speak?” Helle asked the goat, feeling foolish but willing to believe anything after today. “Yes, I did,” the nanny goat bleated. “I was sent so the child could be fed and I am to keep an eye on things here,” the goat said with a distinct “nana,” at the end. “You were given the power of speech?” Helle asked in amazement. “Yes, among other things,” the goat said cryptically. “Do you have a name?” Helle asked as she sat and took great care to gently milk the goat, not wishing to cause the creature any discomfort. “Among the other goats and sheep that free roam the hills behind Troy now, I am called Blotch, because of the dark spot on the end of my nose,” she said and briefly looked cross-eyed at the end of her nose. Helle laughed. “Thank you for the milk, there is fresh straw behind this house, I stole it from the last of the Greeks to leave yesterday,” Helle said by way of invitation for the goat to remain. “Thank you, it was good to get rid of some milkkkkk–the pressure, you know.” The goat shook her head. “As for sleep, I’ve slept in the ruins, like you have for the last two or three nights. This night I will stay here close to your--” the goat looked at the burned out building Helle had managed to turn into a shelter just outside the massive wall of Troy, “home.” Relieved to see the child fed and made comfortable for the night, and enough milk leftover, she had a cup of goat’s milk with her bread. Her own hunger quelled for the first time in many days. She pondered the talking goat, finding it so strange, but the entire day had been that and she was astounded, the god she suspected was Apollo, had not left them alone. With Astyanax sound asleep from exhaustion and with the sun sinking into the sea, Helle made haste to the Temple of Apollo. Before she left, she met Blotch. “I am going to worship at the temple. Will you keep an eye on the boy?” Helle asked. “Of course, that is why I am here, I’ve put my little one to bed as well,” Blotch bleated. Without noticing the change that had begun to take place in her body, Helle cleaned the pillaged altar where the people of Troy had dutifully worshiped their patron god before the fall of the great city. Alone, she gave thanks for his gifts. 10

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Enraptured in the blessings she already enjoyed, she failed to notice it was easier to kneel, her knees no longer hurting from arthritis and old age. She brought no offerings, for she had none to bring, only her grateful heart. After a time she rose, realizing her movements came easier, her pain gone. Attributing her change to the joy she felt, she again thanked the gods and enjoyed the respite from her daily torment. Knowing she had left Astyanax asleep and alone, she felt foolish, when she thought about leaving a goat to watch a baby. Helle hastened back to find him peacefully resting. Exhaustion overcame her, she wished Blotch a pleasant night and Helle lay down next to the child.

***

In her dream, she saw Astyanax’s mother, Andromache, bound in slavery to her Greek Lord, who had not yet tired of the lithe body of his royal prize. She no longer resisted the arousing hands of Neoptolemus, son of Achilles. His hands had come to know her body well during the long sea voyage back to his homeland. She resisted him strongly, at first, fighting him valiantly as her warrior husband when given to him as his prize. Now she lay beneath him, still and passionless, a battle of wills raging between them. Swept up in the strange dream, Helle found herself in the role of preknowledgeable voyeur, given the gift of seeing the lovers’ hearts in their battle of passion. She heard the Greek Warrior chuckle at the Trojan lady’s lack of fervor, yet the battle between them continued, though Andromache no longer physically fought him. She struggled with her own desires that Neoptolemus evoked in her young and fiery body. “Ho, now you lay quiet, and unresponsive, my cold Trojan queen,” he said to her with a laugh. Neoptolemus was now master of her passions, against her best efforts to deny them. His lips nipped her full, satisfying, yet passive lips, taking them roughly, possessively. Andromache attempted to turn her head away, to deny the fire his demanding mouth aroused deep in her belly. His hand smoothed over her body, downward, casually passing over the mound of short, dark brown hair that covered her triangle, forcing her legs apart to rest his knee between them. Grabbing a handful of her long hair, he stilled her protests with his kiss, his tongue tasting hers, demanding her submission. His lips abandoned hers, feeling the beginnings of her response, knowing he had conquered her again. 11

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Changing his assault, he tenderly nibbled down her neck, cupping her full breasts with his sword-calloused hands. Suckling each breast until the nipples became the size of ripe olives, hard with arousal. She arched her back, giving her body to the Greek Lord, craving his touch, her resistance abandoning her. Helle could see Andromache was trying hard to force her body to deny the desire the robust and handsome warlord evoked with his attention. She saw too the fierce desire the warlord bore for his captive–more than physical passion, but respect and the sparks of love lit his dark eyes, despite the couple’s turbulent past. A groan of ecstasy escaped the woman’s throat, and her face reddened in shame, unable to forswear her emotions. To Helle, the Greek Lord seemed to enjoy her enraptured agony, pleased he could arouse her passions. Neoptolemus’s huge hands brought desire to Andromache’s creamed and pampered body. His mouth caused her to gasp in ecstasy bringing a smile of triumph to her master’s face. He held her unmoving by her hair, staring into her eyes. His hand again pushed between her legs to test the softness of her nether-lips, and his fingers the wetness of her core. Her eyes closed in defeat, a tear running down her cheek, her body turning traitor to her will under her master’s tender, yet merciless control. His knee resting between her legs, his eyes held hers. “Your body wants me,” he told her softly, his tone reflecting yet another victory instead of the sensitive terms of a lover. His triumph over the Trojans was fresh in his mind, and the soldiers’ wives yet paid the price of their husbands’ war. Conflict was a part of their lovemaking, however he did not rape his captive, but he saw to her passions as well as his own. Her body arched to meet the finger he slid inside her wet canal, though she tried to will it not to, nor to groan in the near climax of sensations the intrusion brought. She was a young woman, alone, and frightened, even this small bit of caring, physical love brought some solace. Helle tossed in her sleep, aroused by the strange dream in which she had become an observer. She gasped when the warrior’s body covered Andromache’s, and his lips again took hers. Helle lived long without a man’s touch, never so loved by a strong embrace, nor a man intent on seeing the woman’s pleasure met first. She found the dream greatly disturbing. To the Trojan woman’s credit, she neither implored the Greek for mercy from his attentions, nor release from the passions he evoked, though their love became a silent 12

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battle of wills. He excited her body to the edge of climax, only to stop, hoping she would beg for more, disappointed when, whimpering in frustration, she drew away. As she turned from him, he pulled her back, roughly pushed her legs open, and buried his throbbing cock deep inside her. His mouth covered her lips as a deep, satisfying groan issued deep in her throat. Helle watched the two battling lovers in this strange dream as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes for a long moment before he began to move in a rhythm that would satisfy them both. It seemed he was unquenchable, his mighty cock wringing moans of fulfilling gratification from Andromache. She met each stroke, arching her hips to join with him, until at last they both found their summit. To Helle’s amazement, the Greek warrior pulled her closer to him and held her tightly to his pulsing, sweating body, planting kisses tenderly over her face. He drew away slightly, smoothing strands of her heavy long hair from her face, and smiled tenderly down into her tear-streaked face, empathy in his eyes. “Perhaps, my Andromache, I have given you another son,” he said in a compassionate tone, wiping away her tears. “In a few months you may again know the joy of motherhood. I swear to you, no one will tear this one from your arms.” He held her in his strong embrace until his snores echoed in their chamber. Andromache rose from the bed. Drawn to the balcony by a bright shinning light, Helle saw the light warrior who had come to her door that very day. “Daughter of Troy, why do you cry?” The Golden Warrior’s voice held much compassion. Helle heard her answer, “I cry for my son who was thrown from the walls of Troy.” “Cry no more, Daughter of Troy. For your son alone survived. He is cared for and loved. Go back and sleep in peace.” His words brought the relief she had prayed for since Astyanax was torn from her arms. She returned to her bed as if in a trance, but a smile played upon her lips. Her tears were no longer of sorrow, but of relief.

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Apollo sat on a high tower, one of the few left from the war, thinking about the woman Helle. He had seen the beauty of her soul when he touched her. Already he greatly admired the bravery of her heart. His father’s blessing had reversed her age, and she had stood before him as a girl of twenty, though she was innocent of her appearance, 13

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her beauty and innocence whet his sexual appetite as no other woman had, mortal or immortal. Her beauty haunted his sleep, firmly imbedding his being; he heard her laughter even on Olympus. He looked around for Eros, thinking the prankster had zapped him with an arrow but he wasn’t lurking about. Watching her as she slept, obviously affected by the erotic dream he provided of Andromache at passion’s mercy of her Greek Lord, had driven him to almost reveal himself, profess his love, and take her with gentle care, easing both their fervors. As hard and demanding as watching the couple and Helle’s reactions to the voyeurism had been on him, it wasn’t time for that, yet. He found he cared for her and knew she had endured enough shocks for one day. His arousal was keen. He would have to reveal himself soon. Helle woke with the sun and the stirrings of the boy. “Do you hunger for your breakfast, little Astyanax?” she cooed to the boy, while she milked the nanny goat. Yawning, she reviewed the strange dream that seemed to last most of her night, wondering if it were just a dream. The gods and goddesses, Helle knew, made their wills and wishes known to humans in dreams. “Are you always quiet in the morning?” Blotch asked, her speech surprisingly clear. “I had a strange dream last night,” Helle mentioned. “Thank you for your milk.” She patted the goat’s rump gently. Taking the bowl of milk inside, she sat it on the small table. She moved the olive oil flask aside and to her astonishment, it was no longer empty. Other things came to her over the days that followed. Helle was aware of the hand of divine intervention that saw her and Astyanax’s needs met, but she was not yet aware of the full measure of the god’s gifts.

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Awakening early one morning, Helle found herself bathed in a delicious and sensuously stimulating, golden light. Before opening her eyes, she stretched in the wonderful warm glow. Luxuries were few in her life, but the touch of this sensation was astonishing. Every inch of her body felt stimulated with tender, erotic tingles as if the Golden Warrior had caressed his hands over her. Rising from her bed, she followed the light outside, overwhelmed to find the handsome Golden Warrior standing in the bright morning sun. His blue eyes gazed upon her with a lustful intensity that caused her to blush. Her years forgotten, she remembered 14

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when men had admired her in that manner, and her heartbeat quickened. She could not deny, nor understand her need for the man before her whether he was mortal or god. She longed to run her fingers through his long blonde hair and the yearning to fondle his buttocks was hard to deny. “Good maid,” he addressed her, an impish grin crossed his full lips. Her ire rose, believing Apollo teased her by referring to her as a maid at her age and wondered if he read her thoughts. “Follow the trail I have left for you, so your needs, and that of the young Prince, will be cared for in the future.” A gentle hand touched her cheek, then caressed her neck, and over her shoulder as a lover would. With his touch came a surge of hunger such as she had never known. Helle closed her eyes for a moment to enjoy the pleasure of his touch, opening them to gloomy disappointment, for he had gone. Before her lay a trail of small, golden seashells, glittering in the morning sun, sprinkled from her door, leading toward the interior of the city. Helle became excited. The gods, possibly only the god Apollo, she thought, had been generous. She readied Astyanax and followed the trail of shells, picking up one here, one there. Gathering the priceless gifts, she followed the trail of tiny, delicately crafted shells into the ruins of the sacked city. Overwhelmed by the gift, Helle expected nothing more until she realized they must lead to a cache Apollo meant her to find. Through the remains of the outer city, she collected the shells with Astyanax comfortably asleep in a sling, held close to her breasts. Following the trail into the burned-out royal palace, Helle climbed the charred marble steps into the throne room, continuing into the private chambers of Prince Hector and his wife, where Astyanax once lived. A shell here, another there, always where she could see the little works of art, Helle knew they did not come from nature, possibly from Hephaestus, the craftsman of the gods. The trail stopped at a wall. She was perplexed at why they would stop in such a place, until she saw one lying on a shelf nearby. Reaching for it, she had no sooner picked it up, and the wall swung open to reveal a small room without windows. Helle peered carefully into the room, and suddenly the repository glowed as if lit by the sun. She stepped into the room and beheld a treasure such as she never could have dreamed. A table stood in the center of the room, constructed of mahogany and gilded in gold. On it was only one thing, a scroll with a delicate golden chain wrapped around it. 15

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She approached the table, her hands shaking, and she turned. Suddenly fearful, her breath caught in her throat. What if someone had followed her, she thought. She drew a deep breath; her nerves were playing tricks on her. Carefully she unrolled the scroll and read what Prince Hector had written just before his fateful battle with Achilles. My Son Astyanax, Today I face great Achilles. Your grandfather and mother assure me; I am as great a warrior and will emerge victorious. However, I fear, I will not return to see you grow to be a man. I have prayed to great Zeus that you will grow to be a finer warrior than I. Though many will not listen, I fear your aunt, Cassandra, is correct. Mighty Troy will fall, the results of this war, a decade old. I leave this treasure for you, Astyanax, against that day, in hopes that you in some way will survive, may the gods will it. That great Zeus and Apollo will watch over you and your mother. She alone knows of this cache. I know that Troy will never see the greatness of her past, but I leave this treasure to be used to see to the city’s continuance into a future world in some measure of existence. Lead your people! Your father, Hector Apollo had entrusted her with not only Astyanax’s future, but also the future of Troy’s existence. She numbly eased down in the chair next to the table and absently wondered if Hector sat here last to write this letter. Helle drew a ragged breath, tears rolling down her cheeks. Helle was educated, unusual for a woman of her time. A caregiver and early teacher to the royal children for the first several years of their lives, she had held Hector as a baby, as she held his son. Looking around at the surrounding treasures, she realized the weight of responsibility was heavy on her, and that she must tread carefully. To reveal the treasure and spend any of this to live richly would endanger their very existence. Oh, but the temptation to do just that was strong, Helle thought. 16

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She looked around and chose several coins like those she might have found in the ruins, discarded in the corner of a shop or tavern. With these coins, she would buy cloth to make clothes for the child and herself. She would improve their living conditions, but not so much that she would draw attention, knowing in her heart, a simple life drew less notice. The beautiful little golden seashells she left next to the scroll, knowing she could never explain those. She kept one, along with the golden chain that had wrapped around the scroll as a reminder of her new responsibilities and Apollo’s trust. Not that she needed a reminder, but it was as if Apollo meant her to have it. Astyanax stirred, becoming fussy in the sling, reminding her that he would need his mid-day meal soon. Helle carefully closed the trick door. Using a discarded piece of a once-rich fabric now burned and ripped, she erased all traces of her footprints and the scrape marks left when the hidden opening had moved. The treasure room had escaped the pillage of the Greeks, and she would protect it, ensuring it remained hidden. When Astyanax was of age, it would be there to revive the city. Maybe it wouldn’t be the great Troy again, but he would have his heritage and his destiny. Carefully she started back to her home, making sure no one had seen her. The people from the village had not yet taken real notice of her or the child so few weeks after the Greeks had sacked and abandoned the City of Troy. Helle worried enough that the people of the village would question the small flock of stray sheep and goats that adopted her and she asked Blotch about her concerns. “Do the people in the village talk about me and Asty much?” “Soooomme,” Blotch answered, her ‘goat’ accent in full play. “Do you think they will try to take the goats and sheep that have come to stay? Your hair for weaving and milk are truly a godsend.” “I doubt ittttt. The people in the villaggge are a little afraid of you,” Blotch told her. “They suspect you are protected by the gods.” “Good, I’ll be in the garden today, Blotch.” Helle took Astyanax, just learning to walk and went to weed the garden, as most things in sight of the sea. Helle came to know she was as close to happy, for the first time in her life, as she had ever been and would be truly so if her dreams of the Golden Warrior, Apollo, were real. She hungered for him. Having seen him, she knew she loved him and would gladly give herself to him, if he should show an interest. His eyes declared an interest as had his 17

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touch. It had been so long since she had been touched in such a manner, or known the caress of a lover. She drew a deep sigh of desire, mixed with some contentment. Yet she hungered for more of his gentle caresses much like she had yearned for a lover when she was a younger woman. She had lived in the palace then and denied her needs to keep her position in the royal household. Her basic desires and needs returning to her was not a benefit she had expected as a part of Zeus’ gift. It seemed the god’s gift had two sides. With hope in her heart, she occupied her days with Astyanax, and lived for her nights of dreams with the Golden Warrior. She had lost the need for a walking stick the first day, her steps were again sure, her posture straight. She carried herself with the pride of her youth. Helle could see clearly to sew and weave, and the colorful sails of ships at sea were visible again. Her cycle with the moon returned, further alerting her of the god’s blessings. Aware too, her hair had returned to the dark color of the raven, instead of the gray of an old woman, falling in heavy, long waves, instead of thin, stringy, broken shards. She was unaware of her true inner beauty or of the aura of light that surrounded her. She had no mirror, and so she wondered why Apollo would look at her with passion in his eyes, aware of her own needs for him, she knew those yearnings would only be met in her dreams. Since the morning he had awakened her, and for nights that followed, her dreams consisted of arousing visitations of the Golden Warrior, haunting her, filling her body with liquid fire that raced through her veins to center in her sex. His visits left her wet with longing, her breasts firm and aching for the dream-remembered touch of his hands. Shyly she touched them herself; the nipples sprung erect, her apex immediately wet and wanting, her body begging for the attentions of Apollo. Sighing, knowing her own touch would never satisfy the fire in her youthful body, she ran into the surf down the beach from her home, hoping a swim would extinguish the fires of lust burning in her body with the memory of the sun god who haunted her dreams. Disturbing as her dreams were, she was eager for the night’s approach because of the ecstasy the dreams brought. In them she was a young woman laughing and beautiful, worthy of the god’s attention. Apollo would come to her, taking her into his arms, his lips touching hers. Compelling passion flowed from him to awaken previously forbidden wants. His lips tenderly caressed her face, moving downward to her neck. Arousing hands briefly 18

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caressed the swelling mounds of firm young breasts, her nipples hard, craving his touch. She would awake to the sunlight streaming onto her face. Deeply aroused, and filled with deep frustration and guilt. After all he has given us, she thought, it is unseemly that I should dream such a dream. She was ashamed, but she suffered the yearnings of the young woman she had become. A desperate need for the loving touch of Apollo’s embraces became her constant companion. Longing for nightfall and sleep, she could not dismiss her newly awakened needs, or the hope of another ethereal experience.

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Chapter Two

Three years later Always keeping Astyanax close, Helle tended their small garden or fished in the sea, teaching him about the world as he grew. She hugged him when he answered a question correctly, which was often, or when he helped her without being asked. “Helle, why aren’t you my mother?” he asked, still too young to fully understand. “Your real mother was taken away by the Greeks when they won the war, that is what happens,” she told him truthfully, having sworn never to lie to the child. “Why didn’t they take me?” He looked up at her and she blinked back tears. “Asty,” she had shortened his name when they talked, “they leave the little ones behind and I found you.” She didn’t lie but she could tell him about the other deaths. “And Lord Apollo looks after us?” he queried Helle with his soft pallet lips. “Yes he does.” Helle smiled down into his sweet face. “How do you think Blotch can speak? Now remember you cannot tell anyone about that.” “Oh I won’t.” He laughed. “No one would believe me.” On an especially bright afternoon Helle looked down the beach, shading her eyes against the brilliance of a shimmering figure floating toward them. Her heart pounded as the figure drew closer. She gasped, realizing it was the Golden Warrior, and a smile came to her lips. Though he had not admitted his name, she knew—it was Apollo. Lightning rushed through her veins to fill her heart and body with longing. Perhaps great Zeus had struck her with a thunderbolt. Appearing much as he had the first day, he stopped before her, this time his eyes held no pity, but another emotion she found devastating—desire. She had seen it before and his visits had become more frequent. His blue eyes gazed for a time down into hers and seemed to draw her into the depths of his will, glimpsing into her soul. She blushed but did not look away. He was welcome to what he saw in her heart. 20

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His hand gently caressed her cheek, and a slight, lovable smile lit his face as he tucked a stray lock of her silken, raven hair behind her ear. His touch sent rivers of heat through her body, pure golden arousal. Helle saw a real but unspoken promise in his wondrous eyes. She stood gazing back, captivated. Astyanax, feeling ignored by the heavenly visitor, pulled at his linen garment. “My Lord Apollo.” Astyanax’s soft baby voice put more of an ‘Op’ on his name that Apollo found amusing. A deep rumble of laughter shook Apollo and he lifted the small boy from the sand. “Your love of the child reflects his health and growth,” Apollo told her in approval. “He’ll grow to be a fine warrior and a leader of men.” Setting the boy back down on the sand, Apollo drew her close, and touched his lips briefly to hers. “My Lord,” she said, in a breathless whisper, leaning toward him, wanting to feel him with her hands and return his caress but afraid to. “You honor me.” “Helle, you are a beautiful maid,” he said to her, his lips teasing hers again. “Your lips are like honey. I have waited a long time to do this.” His lips covered hers again. “How can you find me so, I am no longer—ah—a maid.” Helle protested softly, craving more of his attention, but embarrassed because of her true age, she turned away. “Helle, in the years since you found Astyanax, have you not seen yourself?” Apollo asked with humor in his voice, as he eased her back to look into her eyes. “No, my Lord, I have no mirror,” she replied apologetically. Having glimpsed her face in a pale of water over time, she never really looked at herself, accustomed to the face she already knew. Holding her close, a gentle hand behind her head, his fingers laced in her rich hair, his lips contacted hers. Her surrender was sweet, yet his kiss demanded more, his mighty arms surrounding her, pulling her closer still to taste her delicate tongue. After a moment of incredible rapture, a tremble of expectation swept through her. Apollo drew away with a sad, regretful smile, to rise from the sand. Two steps into the bright sunlight and he was gone. He had planned to remain longer with the two, but Zeus’ voice called to him from Olympus. Helle was beside herself, she had said little to him. Enraptured with his presence, the thrill and reality of his touch, words eluded her He must think me a dimwitted creature, she thought, and turned to prepare their evening meal. Dismayed by her poor choice of words to the god, her spirit was heartened and 21

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had soared from the touch of his lips on hers. “Asty, go to the garden and bring me a clove of garlic and some tomatoes,” Helle said in a bit of a daze. “Helle, are you alright? Did Lord Apollo’s kiss make you dizzy?” Astyanax asked in his innocence. Helle smiled, his question bringing her back to reality, “Sort of, Asty, now go get the things I asked for.” Helle handed him a large bowl to put the vegetables in. Once dinner was enjoyed, she put him to bed. As was her habit, she went to the Sun God’s temple. What interest would a god have in me? Yet a happy smile played on her face and she patted Blotch along the way. Once in the temple, she went to clean the altar first, to her amazement, lying on the altar was a mirror of fine gold with a dolphin crafted out of mother-of-pearl and inlaid on the back—a gift from Apollo. Helle apprehensively picked up the exquisite present and turned it over. She gasped astonished at her young face. In tears, she sank to her knees as she took in the face she had forgotten from her youth. Now she understood why Apollo had called her a maid. On her knees, she prayed her thanks to Apollo. “Helle,” she heard her name called in the wind that blew through the open shrine, “I gave you the mirror to make you happy, not to bring tears to your lovely eyes.” Not only did she hear him, the voice of Apollo caressed her body, as the warm breeze ruffled her clothing. “My Lord, they are tears of joy. Thank you, I knew I had regained my youthful strength but never dreamed you had given me beauty as well,” Helle said drying her tears. “Helle, you are in high favor with Zeus, as you are with me. Nevertheless, my love, beware. Hera is still angry at the house of Piram. When she learns of Astyanax’s survival, she will not be pleased. Take care and be cautious.” “I will, my Lord, and guard Astyanax as best as any mortal can.” Helle assured him, showing no fear of the queen of the gods and goddesses. Helle’s courage was great, proving to Apollo that she was a worthy woman. Hera, if she did not detest the lineage of Piram, would reward such devotion of a mother to a child, an adopted one even more so. Helle walked back to her home. Apollo’s word had given her much to consider. 22

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She soon joined Astyanax and fell into a deep sleep

***

Apollo had taken to watching Helle and Astyanax from the top of Troy’s highest standing battlement. He waited to declare his love for Helle until Astyanax needed her less, her basic teachings were enough to prepare him for the teachings of Chiron the centaurian. He also wanted Astyanax to come to know Troy as his. He watched as their lives grew into a comfortable routine. Helle thought of Astyanax more and more as her own son, only his royal medallion reminded her of the secret of his lineage. “Asty, you must keep the medallion beneath your shirt so it isn’t visible to other people,” she explained to him. “Why Helle, am I not a Prince of Troy?” Astyanax asked. “I am proud to be of the house of Piram. You have told me the stories of honor of my father and grandfather.” “Yes, you are the only Prince of Troy and it is good to be proud of your family but it isn’t time for these people to know about you, there are still some people who would harm you and I am not strong enough to protect you,” Helle explained. She found he was quick-witted and intelligent, he eagerly learned what she taught him. The tide-smooth sand their tablet, and a stick of driftwood their stylist, she drew Greek letters in the sand. Astyanax learned to read and write simple words and soon put them together into sentences. In the same manner, he learned to do simple math, for Helle only knew the basics. She taught him local history, and drew maps of the way the great city of Troy use to look. He quickly learned the myths and legends of the gods and goddesses, especially those of Apollo and Zeus. His questions about the Great War that directly affected his life seemed never ending. Helle showed him where the battles had taken place and where the charred remains of the legendary warriors rested. Days centered on Astyanax, who grew like the wild grass. Her nights were occupied with erotic dreams of Apollo, her ecstasy. She was a tigress of a mother for Astyanax and a tigress of passion in her dreams to her Lord Apollo.

***

Helle had long reaped the bounty of the sea using a small cast net she had fashioned. She continually watched Astyanax while he played in the shallow edge of the surf close to the beach. It seemed the dolphins, always present, herded the fish into her 23

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nets. Astyanax, curious about the dolphins, played with the calves that came in close, while their parents herded the fish for Helle. Bravely, he ventured into deeper water and made friends with the adult dolphins, learning to swim with the uncommonly friendly creatures. Helle knew they were dear to Apollo and felt no concern for him while they were with the boy. Not since the first day had she returned to the treasure room for fear of exposure. Instead, she lived off the bounty provided by selling her woven cloth made from the flock of sheep she gathered after the war. She offered up prayers of thanks to Apollo for his kindness and his countenance continued. Eventually, village people living near by noticed Helle and Astyanax and their humble but comfortable existence. She came to the village only when her needs to purchase items she couldn’t grow or otherwise provide arose, and to sell her brightly dyed fabric and wool. The quality of cloth was high, the dyes vibrant and colorful, capturing the hue of the Aegean Sea just before the sun touched the water. Some of the wealthy women questioned Helle about her weaving techniques, others offered to shelter her in their home if she would work for them alone, but she politely refused. Her fabric brought a good price and she valued her independence, knowing she had to keep the secrets entrusted to her. When taking Astyanax into the village, Helle always took care to make sure his clothing hid his golden medallion. “Remember,” she warned, “no one must see your medallion. The people are not ready to know about you yet.” She considered removing the Royal article and hiding it in their home. However, he was a Prince of Troy and she would not deny his birthright, so she protected him by obscuring the symbol, hoping no one would see it under his clothes. “I’ll keep it under my robes,” he promised, hugging her neck and kissing her cheek. For the most part, the villagers left her in peace, somewhat fearful of her and the child no one could explain, yet they gossiped about them. All the villagers knew the children of Troy had met the same fate, and this child wore a strange golden medallion around his neck, glimpsed by only a few when the shrouded article peaked out. Helle frightened them, awed by her appearance and the glow that surrounded her. She had grown younger as the child grew older. Blotch heard the gossip and relayed it to Helle but it was never alarming enough to worry her. 24

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Some of the braver, single men of the village, enamored of her beauty, ventured to watch her from a distance without her knowledge. Few remembered legendary Helen of Troy, even though the war had been over seven years, but the legend of her unearthly beauty remained. Watching Helle as she fished in the sea, they admired her shapely figure when the wet fabric of her clothes clung tightly to her body, wondering, could Helen’s legendary beauty have been greater? They gossiped about the strange behavior of the dolphins, and remarked how odd it was that the boy swam with them, riding on their backs as if they were horses. Already they suspected he was royalty or a child of a god. Such a day found her waist-deep in the sea and Astyanax swimming with the dolphins when the Golden Warrior appeared, sitting on the beach. Unnoticed until he began to strum his golden lyre and sing a love ballad, his melodious voice drifted over the gentle waves, meeting her ears. Mesmerized, and aroused by the sensual song, she turned toward the beach, shading her eyes with her hand, and smiled. She waded to shore to join him on the sand, leaving Astyanax swimming with the dolphins. “You surprised me today, Golden One.” Helle laughed. “It gives me pleasure to watch you fish in the sea and to see him swim with my dolphins,” he answered her. Helle did not know what to say. “My Lord, why do we play this game, I know you are Great Apollo,” she replied, her voice in a shy whisper, her passion for him clear in her tone. He smiled at her and the sun brightened. “I know you have from the beginning, yet there is more between us…” “My Lord,” her voice reflected concern, “have I been impertinent?” “Never, sweet Helle, you alone kept faith in me by keeping my Altar after what has befallen Troy.” Apollo gently touched her face, young and smooth. “Only with you would I share the secret Trojan Gold left to Astyanax by his father.” “You have given me much, my Lord, and I am grateful, not only for myself but especially for the boy. It broke my heart to see the little ones…” A tear streaked her face. “It pains me to see you cry Helle.” Apollo’s smile was a little sad. “Astyanax gets too far from shore.” Helle started to call him back in but Apollo stopped her. “Never fear, no harm will come to him. The dolphins will protect him,” Apollo 25

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told her. “They have their instructions.” He drew her closer, his arm around her shoulders. “I came to see you as well as the boy.” “My Lord,” Helle stammered in some embarrassment. Apollo’s eyes mirrored her beauty. She knew him incapable of a lie and was amazed at the reflection she beheld in his eyes. “Even with the mirror, do you not know?” he asked her. “Yes, but the mirror does not tell me what I see in your eyes,” Helle answered humbly. “Your inner beauty shines through in your physical self. My feelings for you are conveyed in my eyes.” He gathered her close and kissed her, drawing her breath away. Helle’s blood heated as if the sun flowed through her, hesitantly her arms slipped around him and she returned his embrace. In his arms, she lay back on the beach with the warm sand beneath her. Her body had craved his for such a long time it was instantly ready for him. A now familiar wetness began between her legs and her breasts peaked at his touch. “Helle.” Astyanax was calling her name. “Helle.” She opened her eyes to look up at the boy, Apollo was gone. It was so real, but now he was gone. I have dreamed him again, she thought. I have left Astyanax alone in the water while I slept on the beach. I am going to lose my mind. She sobbed slightly. “Helle, why are you crying?” Astyanax asked in alarm. “I fell asleep on the beach while you were in the water alone,” she told him, upset with herself. “You weren’t alone, Helle, Lord Apollo was on the beach until I walked up.” The boy smiled. “He waved bye and disappeared.” Helle sat and stared in surprise at Asty.

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Chapter Three

For Helle’s act of unselfishness, Zeus himself had dispatched Apollo, as the patron god of Troy, to reward and protect her, that she would see the child Astyanax to manhood and that he would know his heritage. He had also appointed her as the protector of the secreted Trojan Gold left to Astyanax by Hector. Though Troy would never see the greatness it had once known there would be other Troy’s down through the centuries. The house of Piram would continue. The Greeks had not succeeded in their treachery. If Hera found out that Astyanax, son of Hector of Troy lived, she would be livid, but Zeus would forbid her to harm the child or the woman Helle. Hera also did not know of the treasure Hector had left behind and that was one secret he was determined she not learn. Zeus smiled a sly smile at out-maneuvering his fiery tempered wife, if just a little. He also took great pleasure watching his woman-weary son, Apollo, fall in love with the right woman. When Apollo had touched the old woman, Helle, between her breasts imparting Zeus’ blessing he had glimpsed the woman’s true self. Young, alive and full of love, trapped in an infirmed body brought on by the hardships and the pains of mortality. Inside her soul, she was still pure after all her years and a ghastly hard life–the loss of her only child, the ravages of mortality the fates played against her body, and the horrors of the recent war that had shaken mighty Olympus, pitting even the gods and goddesses against each other. When Apollo had seen her goodness, his own heart had been touched. Cassandra, Princess of Troy, whom he had loved deeply bestowing her with the magnificent gift of prophecy and had then spurned his love, was not as pure as this woman was. Helle touched his heart, still smarting from the pain Cassandra had inflicted on him. Zeus’ blessing had reversed Helle’s age to a proper age for Astyanax’s mother, and that, the same age Helle saw herself, in her heart. Helle, unaware of her true beauty 27

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until Apollo had bestowed the golden mirror upon her, had not changed, but wept with gratitude that he found her beautiful. Her true beauty captured his broken heart that had slowly begun to heal. Apollo kept a close eye on the now youthful and beautiful Helle. He had not yet made it known on Olympus but he would claim her as his, she was after all, a mortal. Apollo already considered her his. She kept his temple in Troy when no one else did. Gracing his altar with a woven cloth she had painstakingly designed herself. No one came from the nearby village to worship or pray, they had forgotten who had made Troy great. Apollo had not brought Troy down. It was the lusting eye of Paris, and the bold boasting, arrogance of Agamemnon, who, as the conqueror of men, took conceited offense at a wrong done to his brother’s honor, not his. In truth, the goddess’ vanity had started the fighting and over a golden apple prize. Hera’s pride was injured because Prince Paris of Troy had chosen Aphrodite over her in the astral beauty contest as the loveliest of the goddess’ awarding her the golden apple prize. Zeus, much too wise to judge the beauty contest, had stepped aside and allowed the mortal Paris to do so. Really, Paris bribed by Aphrodite, had not chosen the loveliest, but given the prize based on the promise of the most beautiful woman on Earth as his wife. Of course, the woman was already married, but that had not been an issue. This started the whispering of hostile words into the heedful ears of men, and that set the course of the fates into action, all because of the goddess’ insecure ego and injured vanity Apollo, sitting high atop the ruins of his temple in Troy, sadly surveyed the destruction of his once great city, thinking of these things. He watched as Helle and Astyanax made their way home in the setting sun after their evening devotions in his temple. With a sigh, he enjoyed the supple and graceful sway of her hips, her laughter met his ears like music and with his sharp eyes he took in her smile that lit the evening brighter than his sister Diana in her full light faze. Her temple duties were not the type of devotions on his mind now. Tonight Apollo would visit Helle in her dreams again. Her nights of dreams would soon be over, he decided. Astyanax was old enough for Apollo to take Helle as his own. For Apollo, immortal as he was, these few years seemed as a few days. To Helle they were years. Years in which she did not age but stayed the same beautiful, 28

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young woman who had emerged from the failing old woman a few days after she took over care of Astyanax. Apollo waited until sleep comfortably settled her into a peaceful, quiet world of dreams. Helle lay sleeping, Astyanax now slept in his own bed. Apollo appeared in a silver moonbeam having borrowed one from his sister, Diana. He showered Helle with the nocturnal illumination and she appeared even younger in the supernatural radiance. Apollo kissed her lips tenderly, his arms surrounding her gently. Helle opened her eyes to look into his deep blue eyes, the color of the Aegean Sea at dusk. She smiled. “Ah, another dream of you, great Lord. Sleeping is such a joy I look forward to, knowing you may come to me in my dreams.” Her voice was soft with sleep and her arms went around him to pull his mouth to hers. His kiss was the taste of heaven. “Are you so sure, sweet Helle, that you dream?” Apollo asked, a sensual grin on his full lips. She smelled of the sea and fresh laurels that grew not far away. “I must be,” she sighed, “the Lord Apollo would not want a mere common mortal woman.” Their lips touched, Helle giving her heart to the embrace. To Helle, though a dream, her love for Apollo was real to the depths of her soul. Apollo caressed the woman he loved, wanting to take his dream visit further than a dream should go. “Sleep now, Helle,” he told his beautiful and dutiful servant. “Soon it won’t be a dream to you. I will be watching over you, my Helle.” “I have never doubted that Lord Apollo.” Helle sighed and went back to her slumber, a sweet smile on her face. Apollo stayed most of the night to watch over his love. Astyanax woke at one point, to see him sitting quietly in the corner of their humble dwelling Seeing only the silhouette of a man, Astyanax was instantly protective of his mother. Though he knew she was not his real mother, Helle was the only one he remembered. “Who are you?” the little boy demanded, at first not recognizing the Lord Apollo in the dim mourning light. Apollo smiled. “I came to be sure you and Helle were safe.” “Oh, you are Lord Apollo!” the seven-year-old proclaimed, surprising Apollo that the boy remembered him. Rarely did he visit when the child was awake. “Yes, but it should remain our secret,” Apollo told the child, his tone firm. “Helle would be alarmed. Astyanax, you must always tell the truth though,” Apollo informed the child. 29

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“That is what Helle tells me…” Astyanax, his voice troubled, dropped off. “What bothers you, boy?” Apollo asked the child who had become special to his heart as well. “I do not like the way the men of the village look at my Helle. I am not old enough to protect her,” he said with concern in his voice. “Fear not Astyanax, I watch over you both,” Apollo assured him. “Though you may not see me.” “Truly?” His voice sounded relieved. “Yes, Helle is a special woman, as you are a special boy. You Astyanax are the son of Hector of Troy, and a Prince,” Apollo told the child. “That is what Helle tells me, but what of my kingdom?” Astyanax asked. Apollo indicated the ruins of Troy, and told the child the story of his heritage. Dawn was breaking when Apollo left the boy asleep, a strange frown on his face. Helle woke as the door closed. She remembered her dream of Apollo’s visit, stretched and wished again it were real. She left Astyanax to sleep and went for a swim in the surf to cool her passions. When she returned she found Astyanax awake. “Can we go and explore the ruins of the City today, Helle?” he asked. Helle could see a change in the child, though she could not understand the cause. Giving in as she often did, they ate their morning meal and went to explore the ruins of Prince Astyanax’s birthright. The day turned into a blustery afternoon as a storm threatened to blow in from the sea. She and Astyanax were looking through the ruins of Troy when she found a sword, long discarded from the final battle that had raged after the Greeks had slyly gotten into the city. Helle cleaned and sharpened the weapon when they returned home showing Astyanax the procedure, allowing him to help. Again, Helle found she could weld a sword as she did in her youth. She took care of the weapon as a warrior would. As her father and brothers had taught her, she taught Astyanax. She kept the weapon in arm’s reach, not in care for herself but for the boy. Daily, early in the morning, before any of the villagers would be likely to come near the shore, she practiced to sharpen her skills and found Astyanax watching her intently. Helle fashioned him a small sword out of wood and he joined her practice routine. “I will be a warrior someday,” Astyanax informed Helle much to her surprise. “And what, my little Prince gave you that idea?” Helle asked him quizzically 30

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“I want to protect you, Helle. I do not like the way the men of the village look at you,” he told her truthfully. “I love you Astyanax, but it will be many years yet before you can take on a grown man, but with practice and skill, yes someday you will be a great warrior as was your father, Hector of Troy,” Helle told him as she often did. Helle was determined he would know of his heritage. “I will make Troy great again, Helle,” he told her one afternoon. Such a serious statement from the young prince caused Helle to suppress a smile. “That is a hard goal you set before yourself, Astyanax,” Helle told him. Apollo sat atop one of the remaining battlements of the walls of Troy, a place he spent many of his days, watching Astyanax practice with Helle. He was rarely far away and when he was, he assigned a watcher or two; Blotch, ever-present, like Helle didn’t seem to age.

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Chapter Four

Hera had, after a time found out about the child Astyanax, and as Zeus had predicted, she was furious. She petitioned her Lord to have the child killed. Apollo was present when the truth had come out. “After all, my husband, the line of Piram was to have died with that child,” she proclaimed passionately. “I made no such declaration, my dear wife,” Zeus said to her in a matter of fact tone, hoping to defuse the situation. “After all, Hera, dear, that was sometime ago, he is but a boy. Are you not the protector of children?” “Not that child,” she stated indignantly, her eyes flashing. “He will grow to be a warrior, as was his father. He might rebuild Troy, then were would we be?” “I doubt that, Hera.” Zeus had waved his hand in a dismissing gesture. “And should he rebuild Troy, it would not be the Troy that was laid to waste.” “Did not Hector pray to you that his son be a greater warrior than he?” Hera had thrown back at Zeus, her tone sly. “Hera, dear, the deed is done, the war is over and settled. Odysseus has not reached home yet, let it go.” Zeus sighed. “I will not let it go.” Hera stamped her foot petulantly and the mountain shook slightly. She cared less about whether Odysseus found his way home or not. “Yes, my dear, you will!” Zeus was losing patience. “That boy and the woman who saved him are under my protection and that of Apollo. No harm will come to them. Do you understand me, dear Hera?” Her eyes flashed in anger. “I do, dear husband,” she said sarcastically and Zeus knew she would not let it go. She left the audience chamber in a huff. Zeus turned to his son Apollo. “Best to keep a sharp eye on your woman, my son.” He laughed at the surprised look on Apollo’s face. “You think I did not know you visit her in dreams? Really Apollo, it doesn’t surprise me at all you have such problems with your love life. 32

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Take care my boy, this one does love you. Do not ruin it. She is worthy to sit with you at my table.” Zeus patted his son’s back. “Go now, look after matters, Hera will stop at nothing to endanger Helle and Astyanax. Should she find out about the wealth hidden for Astyanax there will be no pacifying her. I will watch her from here.” With that said Apollo bowed before his perceptive father and made haste to Troy where his love was raising the son of Hector with great care.

***

Hera wasted little time attempting to enlist the sympathies of Athena. She too had an interest in this situation and Hera needed an ally. “Athena, my sister goddess,” Hera said to her in familiar tones, “the son of Hector lives.” She enjoyed the look of outraged surprise on Athena’s face. “How so,” Athena said simply, quickly covering her surprise. “An old woman found the child still alive after he was thrown from the walls of Troy. It would seem the bodies of the babes thrown before him cushioned his fall. Zeus has taken pity on the boy and the old woman. He now declares them both under his protection, as well as that of Apollo. Zeus has gone so far as to reverse the age of the woman to that of twenty years and she is quite a beauty. Apollo has become utterly smitten with her.” Hera gossiped, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “I am sure you are relieved it wasn’t Zeus that was smitten,” Athena smirked but added. “Astyanax is but a child, perhaps little more than seven years old and Troy is in ashes. I care not,” Athena said in a dismissing and bored tone. She cared, but had other things on her mind and her agenda. Joining Hera in a domestic battle with Zeus held little interest at present. “Athena, that little boy will grow to be a warrior as was his father. He will attempt to rebuild Troy.” Hera’s voice was low and conspiring, ignoring her first comment. “Remember Hector’s prayer to Zeus, asking that his son be a greater warrior than he?” “Hera, should Astyanax grow to be a greater warrior than Hector, he has no army and little chance of gaining one. What proof of his birthright does he have, and where would he muster an army, much less how would he pay them? The people of Troy are slaves and the few small villages that remain pose no threat to my Greeks,” Athena argued in careless air. Hera was growing irritated that she could gain no support from her sister goddess. 33

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“Very well Athena, I shall send a scout to see how this situation really stands, then decide if I will intervene or not.” Hera walked away, her head held proudly as always, and her stride stately as befitted the Queen of the Gods and Goddesses of Olympus.

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Chapter Five

Mercury lounged contentedly, relaxing, something he rarely did. He was still recuperating from all the hectic coming and goings of the Trojan War. Several lovely nymphs attended his needs. Two of the lovely creatures languidly caressed his runner’s fleet muscles with their delicate hands, massaging a healing, sweet smelling balm into his tired body. While the two massaged his form, as an added distraction, he fondled their voluptuous breasts, kissing their rosebud nipples, enjoying watching them pucker while he smoothed his hands over their ripe hips. His caressing mood quickly became delightful arousal. He bade one sit next to him to kiss her pink lips and fence with her sweet tongue. They were an amicable group, without jealousy of one another. When his play turned to lust and he chose to enjoy the two for a delightful ménage, the others paired off to pleasure each other. This provided an excellent erotic exhibit. He loved watching the young female bodies, their hands and little fingers lost in each other’s nests of pubic hair, while they tongued delicate breasts, adding to his enjoyment of the nymphs he was currently making love with. His hand slid around the hip of the nymph stretched next to him finding the wet well of her sex. A purr of delight issued from her milk white throat as he slid his fingers between her cunt lips and she thrust her little tongue into his mouth. Her sister nymph was busy and not to be outdone. She placed warm kisses and little licks along the length of his hardened cock. Mercury groaned in sheer ecstasy, hearing the nymph giggle, until her delicate mouth covered the head of his engorged organ and began to suck. In his delirium of delight, he moved his fingers from the cunt lips of the nymph he was caressing, to slowly insert one deep into her wet well. Mercury moved his mouth from her lips to suck her breasts causing her to climax as he moved his finger rhythmically in and out of her shapely, creamy white body. Gently drawing his cock from the nymph giving him so much oral delight he inserted it into the climaxing nymph to give her total gratification of his abilities. Drawing the one 35

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who had pleasured him closer, he kissed her deeply his hands now pleasured her as he had the first nymph, causing her to cry out in bliss, her climax sounding a ringing music from her lovely throat. Two of the other nymphs came to her assistance as she reached her peak, drew her away to a comfortable rest while Mercury turned his full attention on the little nymph who had brought him to near climax before he could satisfy either. To her, for her loving attention, he delayed her climax but increased her satisfaction until, in tears, she begged release from the height he had taken her, only then did he quicken his strokes. She locked her long slender legs around his hips, meeting his thrusts. She found her arms gently held by two of the other nymphs while they stroked her clit, her climax prolonged until Mercury called out his release. After such an erotic assemblage, the group lay in various positions upon Mercury’s magnificent bed, some reclining on pillows, cast on the thick rugs covering the marble floors, dozing. Hera entered Mercury’s private chambers quietly, and without the courtesy of announcing her presence. Upon seeing her and the scowl on her brow, the nymphs scattered causing Mercury to sit up abruptly. Discerning the reason for his charming attendant’s quick retreat, he relaxed back on his couch without much care to cover himself or his magnificent athlete’s body. “To what do I owe this, ah, honor?” Mercury asked with some sarcasm, peeved with her lack of decorum at not announcing herself. Hera ignored his tone, she needed his help and wasn’t in the mood to banter with the fleet footed messenger. “I need your assistance, Mercury.” “Your manner of acquiring my favor could use a little more tact, great Queen,” Mercury said and examined his nails in a bored fashion. He stretched, his pubic hairs showing, the bulge of his mighty cock, half aroused, trying to sneak out of the light cover that did little to cover it. “What is it you require?” His curiosity got the better of him. “There is a situation I need a little more information about in Troy,” Hera said in a half-disinterested manner. “Troy?” Mercury was tired of that subject, as far as he was concerned it was over and done with. “What could possibly be happening in that burned out rubble?” “I have it on good authority that the son of Hector, Astyanax, lives. If this is so, I wish to know in what capacity? Does the child pose a threat?” Hera asked. “My Lady, what does it matter? The child is a mere babe, not more than five. You would take revenge on a child?” Mercury questioned, not seeing a danger or need to 36

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spy on a child. “He is the son of Hector, the son of Piram, the nephew of Paris and more like seven,” Hera said with some irritation. Mercury sat up; he knew her tone, nothing would appease her until she had her information, and he would have no peace until she did. He slipped his winged sandals on and tied them securely. “Very well, milady, what is you require of me?” “I wish to know how this child is being raised. If the way he is being raised will be a threat…” Hera’s voice trailed away with the breeze that whispered through the halls of the Temple of Olympus. “So you want a spy,” he stated rather than asked, as he stood, fully naked and slipped on his robes. “Yes,” Hera said, her tone softened, the weight of her actions finally catching up to her and a little embarrassment sneaking through. “Very well, I will fly down, look over the situation and report back. But tell me, how does our Lord Zeus feel about this?” Mercury queried with a knowing look. Hera looked away. “He has given the child and the woman who is caring for him, his protection.” “I see.” Mercury said knowing Hera was acting without Zeus’ knowledge. The winged messenger stretched again, preparing for his flight to Troy. “Who else knows of this child?” “Apollo knows of him, as does Athena,” Hera admitted, making it sound as though she had taken them into her confidence as well. Mercury though, was not as gullible as Hera allowed herself to hope. Donning his helmet, he took flight for Troy to find out what was going on in the burned out rubble of what had once been a beautiful city. Cloaked in invisibility Mercury hovered over the city, surprised to find Apollo sitting on one of the high battlements left standing. He intently watched a lovely young woman and a small child presently going through a series of practice maneuvers, the woman with a battle worthy sword and the little boy a well-made wooden one. The sun had just risen, casting shadows over the sand across the expanse of beach between the city and the sea. Assuming a comfortable altitude, Mercury settled on a cloud for a long surveillance. As the day wore on, Mercury became bored. Apollo, obviously love struck, never knew Mercury watched him. At mid-day Mercury flew back to Olympus and reported to Hera. 37

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“My Lady,” he said with a smile on his graceful face, “the boy trains with the woman, how much of a threat can that be?” “How good a teacher is the woman?” Hera quipped back. After all, Athena herself was the great huntress and women warriors were not unknown. “She teaches him the exercises,” Mercury replied nonchalantly. “I see no threat,” he smiled, “from an eight-year-old child taught by a twenty-year-old woman.” “That twenty-year-old woman is really almost sixty,” Hera informed the messenger of the gods. “Zeus favors her and the child, and for saving the boy he reversed her age so she might see him cared for until he is a man.” “Oh, now I see,” Mercury said in a sarcastic tone. “Zeus has given this woman and child his protection and that explains…” Mercury stopped and laughed. Hera’s face turned red and she left in a huff, angry at the messenger’s laughter echoing in her ears. Hera’s anger nettled her. She would rid herself of this thorn now. A few Greek soldiers remained behind in the countryside. She sought one out and whispered in his ear. “Go for a walk on the beach. Remember the glory of defeating the Trojans.” Her voice reverberated in the wind to one stray soldier. “Remember how lovely the Trojan women were, there were a few left behind, perhaps you will find one,” the wind told him. Hera returned to Olympus as the soldier started toward the ruins.

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Chapter Six

With the sun at its zenith, high over the blue-green Aegean Sea, Helle spotted a figure walking towards her down the beach. She quickly hid her own sword, unusual for a woman to have, but Astyanax’s wooden sword was a customary toy for a boy and she allowed him to continue to play. Watching the man draw closer, she set about working in their garden. Helle briefly felt a rush of hope that it was Apollo, but his armor was not golden, only the usual bronze of a Greek soldier. Now she had cause to worry and realized Astyanax’s golden medallion was plainly visible outside his shirt. Helle stopped her work and moved closer to her sequestered sword. She hoped the soldier would pass her by, but soon could see he came straight toward her. Helle wondered if some malevolent force had sent him to harm Astyanax and remembered Apollo’s warning of Hera’s treachery. He spoke respectfully enough, but his black eyes were full of lust and Helle knew no layers of cloth would stop what his eyes thought they saw beneath her garments. “Good morning tides to you. Might I have a cup of water from your well?” His smile appeared like more of a leer. Helle regarded him briefly, distrustfully. “Of course.” Helle indicated the water. “Drink your fill.” “Thanks, you are, ah?” The soldier wanted her name. “I am called Helle,” she told him simply but did not disclose the child’s name. “Your son?” he asked taking a drink from the dripper. “I am his mother,” Helle said, not really a lie, she was his adoptive mother. She hugged Astyanax close, protectively, her distrust of the Greek soldier obvious in her brown eyes that turn a bit crimson. The Greek snickered. “You do not trust me, nor does the boy.” He motioned to Astyanax, who stood bravely enough, his toy sword held firmly in his little hand. “We have no reason to. You’ve had your drink…” Helle said, letting the sentence 39

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hang, but motioned for him to go. “You are a good looking woman, where is your husband?” the soldier questioned, his gaze scanning the area for another man who might stand in his way of pleasuring himself with this woman. He saw none. “That is none of your concern.” Helle’s eyes burned a brighter brown. She grasped the hilt of her sword, which Astyanax put into her hand behind her back where the soldier could not see it. He came closer, aggressively. “Do you have a husband, woman of Troy, or did he die fighting us?” “What is that to you, Greek?” Her hatred of him was tangible in her voice. He moved to grasp Helle around her slender waist. She kicked his legs from beneath him. Surprised, he looked up the length of her sword into her blazing brown eyes, turned crimson in her anger. Astyanax had moved away, out of his reach, he would be unable to use the child as a bargaining tool for her cooperation. Moving quickly, he rose from the sand to grab her sword but Helle moved quicker and out of his reach. Angered because a woman had outmaneuvered him, he charged her. Helle stepped out of his way smoothly, and smacked him hard on his butt with the flat of her sword. “Leave me now,” Helle warned. “You are toying with your own death and that of the boy’s. I will have you eventually, woman,” the Greek soldier blustered angrily. He saw the aura around Helle but attributed it to the sunshine. He had not heard the rumors about her and the Golden Warrior who visited her. To Helle’s horror, he ran after Astyanax who yelped and ran with his toy wooden sword in his hand. Astyanax assumed a higher and dominant position as she had taught him. To her dismay, he turned to defend himself. The soldier stopped and laughed, but grabbed to capture the child who stabbed at him with his wood weapon. Further angered, the Greek swatted Astyanax but the boy ducked and stabbed him again, this time drawing blood. Helle was on him in a flash. Her sword was metal and could do serious damage. On her first swing, Helle sliced through the Greek’s leather tunic coming close to gashing his chest had he not lurched back. Enraged, he drew his sword and assumed a battle stance. Their swords met in a loud clang of heavy metal, Helle holding the heavy sword in both hands. Skilled as she was, her strength was no match for the Greek soldier. He disarmed her and pinned her into the sand kicking and screaming. Helle tried to sling 40

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handfuls of sand into his face. His black eyes bored down into her angry, flaming brown ones. “Run Astyanax, run. Go to the village for help,” Helle screamed to the boy, anxious he not see what the Greek would do and fearing he might kill the boy. “What did you call that boy?” The Greek glared down at her. “Go to Hades, Greek. May you drown in the river Styx.” Helle spat at him. The Greek drew back to backhand her and found his hand stayed by a powerful force he could not explain, until he looked up. A warrior dressed in gold held his arm in a grip with the strength of an iron vice. “Who are you that you dare such a thing on this woman?” the voice from the warrior demanded. The Greek soldier could not see the Golden Warrior’s face, the sun was behind him and the glow was blinding. “Release me, so that I may defend myself,” was the only answer the soldier gave. “Dare you stand against Apollo?” was his reply to the Greek’s challenge and Apollo threw the man from Helle with one hand. “Leave this place,” his voice thundered, the air shaking with his words, “and this woman in peace, lest you spend the rest of your life as a pig.” Helle scrambled to her feet and Astyanax ran to her. Having seen Apollo’s appearance, he had delayed going to the village. The Greek soldier ran without looking back, the sound of their laughter in his ears. Fear permeated his being and he knew if he told this tale, no one would believe it. When he reached the village, he drowned his dreadful experience in a full skin of wine, which loosened his tongue, and added to the growing mystery about Helle and the strange child she was raising. “Are you harmed, Helle?” Apollo asked, noticing she was shaking as she brushed the sand from her disheveled clothing. “No my Lord, thank you, I am only shaken up a little,” she answered. Sure, he wasn’t a dream this time. “You told me you would be watching over us,” Astyanax declared, happy Apollo had stopped the soldier from doing what he could not. “Lord Apollo never tells lies, Astyanax,” Helle told the boy then looked at Apollo, puzzled. “When did you tell Astyanax such a thing?” she questioned Apollo 41

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without thinking, then paled that she had questioned him. “I am sorry my Lord.” She blushed. “Helle…” Apollo’s voice took on a tender tone, remembering what his father, Zeus had said to him, the time for dreams and games over. He knew that the soldier’s appearance wasn’t an accident and he had meant to harm Helle and Astyanax. “I have watched you from the beginning.” “That I have never doubted.” Helle thought of her dreams, wishing they too were real. “They are,” Apollo said with a slight smile, acknowledging he had read her thoughts. “Every dream you have had of me.” “Why, my Lord?” Helle asked. “Astyanax,” Apollo addressed the boy, “see the dolphins, why don’t you go and swim with them for a while, they enjoy playing with you.” So bidden, the boy ran to play in the surf with his aquatic playmates. “Helle, I watch you always and I have come to you in your dreams, now though, I think it is time to go further than dreams.” He drew her closer, enfolding her in his arms, his lips touching hers, tentatively, gently. Light kisses rained down on her lips, her cheeks and her neck. They sank to the sand. He had waited so long to touch her in the light, in her reality he found it difficult to stop. Her response was genuine, Zeus had said she loved him and was worthy to sit at his table. Was this the one woman in the world for him, the one who would not flee or turn from him? Her lips were sweeter than the nectar of ambrosia, her response eager. “My Lord it is unseemly that we go further out here where Astyanax would see.” She laughed a little. “Let us go to my bed, humble though it is.” “Yes, my Helle, and your humble home is a palace to me,” Apollo assured her, and lifting her in his strong arms he bore her to bed. He loosened her long, heavy waves of raven hair and entwining his fingers in the mass, drew her mouth to his, covering her lips with his demanding kiss. Helle gave herself to him, their tongues tasting each other, stoking, arousing. Stopping to gaze into her eyes then to kiss her face, to tug on her earlobes gently with his teeth, Apollo’s urgency was overpowering. His tongue tasted the salt of the sea on her skin mixed with the petals of wild flowers that scented her bath. Her body was a celebration to him. Each heavy breast a work of art by the finest artisan the gods could employ. So many women he had loved, many had toyed with him, rejecting his affection. 42

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Not this woman, she was eager for his touch, and returned his ardor. Her hands caressed his muscles, not like Cassandra’s soft hands, for Helle was not a princess, but worked to care for Astyanax, to provide food and a home for them both. Apollo longed to take her from here and put her in a place of higher safety where she would be well cared for, but that time had not yet come. Astyanax still needed to gain a feel for Troy and know it as his, as its prince, and one day leader, but soon, so soon. Oh, but she was sweet, her hands boldly moved over him, pushing his tunic from his body. In turn, Apollo released the belt around her waist, freeing her simple garment to further fondle her firm breasts. In so many dreams, he had left her at this point, but not today. Today he would make love to her fully, taking her to the pinnacles of Olympus. He kissed her wonderful breasts, their hard nipples, firm olives he teased with his tongue, rolling them in his mouth. Helle moaned in the passion he had longed to share with her, he chuckled, a deep resonate sound of conquest. His lips moved lower over her firm, flat stomach to her ample mound of dark, thick hair that covered white skin the sun had not reached to tan. His fingers combed slowly through her nest of hair to caress and tease her nether lips, feeling the slick wetness of her arousal. Apollo rejoiced at her gasp of new sensations while his fingers gently worked her labia lips feeling them swell under his manipulations. “Has no one ever loved you here Helle?” he asked hoarsely, his breath short. “No,” she gasped as his mouth closed over her clit, “it has been so long, my Lord, since I have been loved and then so little.” “No longer, my love, I will love you often,” he promised, his tongue teasing her wet, heated sex before he tenderly explored her burning center, slowly inserting a finger, intensifying her craving for his hardened cock. Knowing her weakness, he held back her nether lips to explore that sensitive flesh with his tongue. Helle’s gasps sharpening his hunger, heightening his arousal. Her hands grasped the coverlet, so fierce was her rapture, lest she succumb to the desire to clasp his head to her. She cried out her climax in controlled mews, fearful of Astyanax hearing. His tongue replaced his digit and plunged into her softness bringing her ecstasy she had known only in her dreams. He stopped when she begged him for sweet mercy from the assault of sexual anticipation on her mortal body. He placed light kisses back up, over her stomach, to tickle her navel with his tongue, upward to tease her nipples again, lastly to gaze down into her eyes, bright from her climax. Each action, an act of devotion from the god Apollo bestowed on 43

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his love, his faithful servant, to be close above her and watch her body respond to his touch was a dream come true. Now, positioning his mighty cock at the tight entrance to her waiting, burning body, knowing she was not a virgin, but knowledgeable that many long years had past since her last lover, he was slow and gentle. He took great delight watching her eyes widen as he joined with her. Passion took her when he thrust into her body and he gloried in the color change of the brown in her eyes. Helle raised her legs, laying one across his waist to allow him better access. Her hand touched his cheek tenderly. Taking her hand reverently, he lovingly kissed the palm before lifting her hips with his strong hands to steady her as he drove into her fevered body. She gasped each time their bodies met, his scrotum thumping her tight buttocks. Her groans changed to cries of passion, the pitch from low throaty groans to a higher pitched whimper of uncontrolled rapture such as she had never known. She covered her mouth to squelch her voice least Astyanax think something wrong and come to investigate. Apollo nearing his own climax, Helle once more stifled her cry of rapture as another swirling rush of sensations filling her body. Her head thrown back lost in pleasure, her hips meeting his thrusts as she reached her second peak with him, his hot seed spilling into her hot, fevered body. Holding her precious form to his, they remained entwined together, lying still for a while, at last, she was his. No longer just a remembered dream, but reality, and he would visit often in the coming days. Apollo knew he had found his love at last and would fight Olympus if he had to, to keep her. Presently they rose and dressed. Together they went outside to find Astyanax playing in the surf with a pod of dolphins and joined in their games. The Dolphins frolicked, happy to play with their Lord for a time, a rare honor and privilege. Leaving Astyanax to play with his friends, Helle and Apollo went to rest on the warm sand and enjoy the day. “My love, you must take special care, more so than you have in the past,” Apollo said in warning to his love. “What has changed, my Lord?” Helle asked in concern “There are those in high places that would see Astyanax harmed because of who he is and you for helping him.” Apollo would not name the other deities involved, he didn’t consider it ethical. “Always beware the danger may not come in direct form, as it did today, but in a more supernatural or even a common source,” Apollo explained. 44

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“I will heed your wisdom, as always,” Helle said solemnly. “I know you are watching but even a god, must at times rest.” She smiled a little. “Helle, I will hear your voice or that of Astyanax’s wherever I am, even in sleep,” Apollo assured her.

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Chapter Seven

Hera was not a happy goddess. Her plan had failed. Oh well, she thought, it was a weak plan, quickly conceived. Mercury had failed to tell her Apollo watched over the woman and child so closely. Now the Greek soldier was drunk and making it known that a warrior, dressed in gold, and as bright as the sun protected the woman Helle and the child who lived in the ruins of Troy. It would be difficult to persuade another to do her bidding. She would have to find another way to dispose of the child. The woman, Apollo could have, with his history with women it would not last, Hera laughed to herself. I wonder what will become of this one, she thought. Cassandra, given the gift of prophecy by Apollo, and Apollo unable to withdraw such a gift when she rebuked his affections, made it so no one would believe her. Before Cassandra one maid, fleeing Apollo’s attentions, had pleaded to Zeus for help. He had turned her into the laurel tree as she wept by a stream; her tears became the tree’s leaves, forever flowing into the stream. Apollo now wore golden laurel leaves on his head in her honor. Handsome he was, but for some reason women wanted nothing to do with him after a time. Hera was not fond of Apollo or his sister, both reminders of her husband’s infidelity, and neither lucky in love. How fitting, she thought. She watched the boy romping in the surf with Apollo’s dolphins. Maybe Poseidon could help, she thought and went to enlist his sympathies, as he had disliked the Trojans. “Lord of the Oceans and Seas,” Hera said in her sweetest voice to Poseidon, “did you know the son of Hector of Troy lives?” Poseidon turned slowly on his golden seashell-encrusted throne to gaze at Hera, she looked particularly lovely this day and his wife Amphitrite was away in another ocean. Not that Hera would ever be complicit in any dalliance, known as a chaste goddess. Poseidon would never risk his brother’s displeasure or that of his own wife in such a way but she was a joy to the eyes. “No Hera, I was not aware of that, last I heard, 46

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the lad had been tossed from the heights of Troy with the rest of the,” he paused as if the act pained him, “babes.” “He was, but he survived, an old woman found him and nurtured him. Zeus has given them his protection and gone so far as to reverse the age of the woman. Knowing how you felt about the Trojans I thought you might like to know,” Hera said coyly. “Ah,” Poseidon shrugged disinterestedly, “what is one child? The war is over and I must say the Greeks’ behavior when they took the city disappointed me. They failed to give the gods and goddesses their proper due. Even Athena is angry with them,” Poseidon said in a disinterested manner. He remembered how mighty Ajax had acted after the war’s victory. “I had hoped to enlist your support to rid the world of the last of Piram’s line,” Hera said boldly. “It is over and done, let it go. I am tired of the death of mortals and especially of the children. I no longer see any point to it.,” Poseidon declared with some passion, and seeing anger in Hera’s eyes he quickly pointed out, “What is the life of one little child, innocent of his heritage and the sins of his uncle, Paris, who it was that started all of this?” “I will see the entire line gone!” Hera declared with passion on the subject. Hera left the sea and appeared in Troy herself to see the woman who had saved the babe Astyanax. Hera was careful to stay clear of Apollo, who sat in the spot that he had grown comfortable watching from, high atop the last standing battlement of Troy. It was early morning and Helle was going through her morning exercises with the sword she had found, Astyanax keeping perfect time and form with her. His wooden sword was still his weapon of choice, but as he had grown, so had the sword, and now that he was eight, it was full size. This didn’t please Hera. Helle was teaching the boy how to use a sword, but in this time of men, he would need that knowledge to survive. Hera continued to observe them finished their weapon’s practice then race into the sea for a swim, the usual pod of dolphins accompanying them. Astyanax bore a striking resemblance to his father and this nettled Hera further. At least he doesn’t resemble Paris, she thought. After their swim, Helle provided a good breakfast. She proved to be the perfect example of motherhood and her simple and humble home, well kept. Hera could find no faults with Helle. She exemplified the type of woman Hera normally would reward for her integrity. 47

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For a time after breakfast, they worked in their garden, and did household chores. Helle then instructed Astyanax in simple academic subjects, which surprised Hera. Finding no fault with the woman only served to anger her further. She scrutinized the situation from a well-hidden position and was surprised when Poseidon appeared, riding on the back of a great green sea turtle obscured by the large swells on the sea. Poseidon’s interest had been piqued when Hera had described the woman’s beauty, her devotion to a child she found alive among the condemned, coupled with her courage to defy the gods and care for the child. A mortal woman with those attributes was rare. It seemed she also had a love of his oceans and added to the information that Astyanax rode on the backs of his dolphins drew Poseidon to observe her and draw his own conclusion. Lounging on the back of the sea turtle, his trident in one hand and resting his head on his other hand supported on his elbow on the turtle’s head, he floated on the swells of the Aegean Sea watching the sumptuous creature as she flung her net into a school of fish to catch her and the boy’s dinner. As Hera had told him, Astyanax romped with a pod of dolphins, unaware of his presence. Helle’s garments clung to her body revealing her full breasts, slender waist, tight belly and rounded hips. Unknown his actions were under scrutiny, Poseidon sighed at the comely sight of the mortal water nymph in the crashing surf. Enjoying the display, he found nothing wrong and lingered to enjoy the lovely water ballet of Helle casting her net again, her arms reaching out, her hair flying free, a sunglow on her cheeks. The familiar ache that grew in his loins, along with his hardening cock, made his body’s craving for her eminent. Hera had told him Apollo favored this woman. He could understand Apollo’s desire, but the god, known for his lack of skill as a lover, had left this beautiful creature to live unprotected, poorly provided for, and in these conditions. Poseidon grinned confidently and eased his aching cock inside his loincloth to a more comfortable and less noticeable position, not wishing to frighten the girl. Perhaps he could lure her away from the inept, younger god. Changing his form into that of a large male dolphin, he swam toward shore to join the pod of dolphins, they knew the Lord of the Seas at once and made way for him. Helle, busy with her net, and keeping a sharp eye on the now eight-year-old Astyanax, didn’t notice the new dolphin until he swam next to her and rubbed against her. Helle wasn’t alarmed, the dolphins were always friendly and had bumped her from time to time in such a manner. She patted the creature, spoke to him in a friendly tone and began to 48

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pull her net in. Suddenly the dolphin swam abruptly between her legs and she found herself astride the larger than usual beast. He swept her feet from the sandy ocean floor and in her startled condition; she grabbed his dorsal fin to keep from falling off and going under water, letting out an alarmed cry at the same time. Astyanax, playing with several smaller dolphins equal to his age, called to her and began to swim toward her, frightened as the dolphin she sat astride headed out to sea with her. Helle, fearing Astyanax would soon be past his ability to get back to shore, called to him, “Astyanax, go back to shore, now!” She watched as the boy disregarded her orders and continued to come out toward the fast swimming dolphin that was abducting her. “Astyanax, you must go back. Call to Lord Apollo, run to his temple. Call to him for help.” To her relief the boy turned back and she could see him, as a small, quickly disappearing figure, running toward the temple. Helle, sure of her own swimming skills, slipped off the dolphin’s back, before the animal took her further away, praying Apollo was listening and would soon appear, hoping the tides were with her. No sooner had she swam three strokes toward the shore than the dolphin swam under her and she was again on his back. Helle was now sure this was not an ordinary dolphin. “You are not Apollo, I know that,” Helle said in a respectful voice, a tremble of fear slipping through her bravado. “Which god or goddess are you? I would guess the great sea god Poseidon. Why have you done this? I know you did not like the Trojans but why are you taking me? Are you going to drown me?” Helle’s voice trembled at her last question. Poseidon’s last intention was to cause her pain, or frighten her. Suddenly he changed his form, and Helle found she now rested on the back of the large sea turtle Poseidon had ridden. Her wet, Aegean blue garment clung to her, her ripe breasts displayed provocatively. Long dark tresses of her hair curled around her now pale face and her beautiful brown eyes were large with fear. Seeing the great sea god for the first time in his true, awesome form, standing in a golden water chariot drawn by two large mares, she was temporarily speechless. His massive, muscular chest and biceps heavily tanned from the sun, his eyes as blue of the darkest nadir of the oceans were piercing, his lust and desire for her were clear in their burning depths. Seeing his intentions, Helle became terrified of him. This was not the gentle Lord Apollo whom she loved, but the 49

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fearsome Lord of the Seas, a married god whose wife-goddess would show her no mercy for a liaison that would have no meaning to him after he had been with her for a time. “You are Helle, are you not?” Poseidon smiled in an attempt to calm her obvious fears. “Yes, my Lord, that is my name. Why have you taken me?” Helle managed to question. “Please, Lord Poseidon, the child needs me, allow me to go back to shore.” “The boy is old enough to be away from you for a time Helle,” he said reassuringly. “Please my Lord, the god Apollo watches over us…” Helle began but Poseidon laughed. “Then where is that young pup?” Poseidon roared with laughter. “He would leave a treasure such as you to live in a hobble when you should be in a palace.” His face lost its humor and the look of desire and passion grew instead to pierce her, stripping away her thin, wet garments. “Come maid.” He held out his hand for her to step aboard his golden chariot. “Do not disobey,” he warned. “I would take you to a life of luxury and peace.” Helle was shaking and afraid, she didn’t want to go with him, she didn’t love him and she did love Apollo. “My Lord, I must decline your kind offer. I will await my Lord Apollo’s coming. The reasons he leaves us to live here are by my choice as much as his. If you will but allow, I can still swim to shore.” Helle couldn’t comprehend the thought of being taken beneath the waves to the Lord of the Sea’s home–she feared drowning far too much. She forced her fearful tears back. “Maid,” his voice thundered over the waves that became turbulent and the sky darkened, “do you deny the god of the Seas, from which you harvest your food?” Helle’s trembling was past controlling. “Respectfully, yes.” Helle suddenly found she stood next to Poseidon in his chariot, his massive arm around her waist; the turtle was gone. “My Lord, your wife,” she protested, her trembling seemed to whet his desires, the fires in Lord Poseidon’s eyes glowing hotter at her trepidations. “Is on other shores and will be for sometime.” He smiled winningly down into her frightened face. “Fear not, maid, I will protect you from harm,” he promised, drawing her body full against him. His aroused cock pressed against her belly left no doubt of his desire for her. His lips lowered to possess hers. Overwhelming strength flowed from his magnificence, his arms wrapped tightly around Helle. She pushed against his chest with 50

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all her strength, he held her captive to his desires, her knees becoming weak against him. A large, possessive hand grasped one of her full breasts, his thumb massaging her nipple, sending waves of erotic fear through her to center in her womb. His tongue thrust between her lips to stroke hers while he held her prisoner, cradled in his grasp against his powerful body. Helle resisted him, her strength weak against the god’s potency, knowing it was a futile struggle but refusing to give into him passively. The darkened skies grew light, again blue but now the day grew brilliant, the sun more than bright. Helle knew the warmth of a familiar light. Poseidon released her and Helle caught the rail for support to find Apollo sitting casually on the back of one of the mares that pulled the chariot. Apollo’s bluer than blue eyes were the warning color of the blue part of a flame. “You dare tread on my shores?” Apollo asked with amusement but behind his mirth was strictly controlled anger at the god Poseidon, his uncle. He knew Hera had prompted Poseidon’s curiosity to entice him to visit Troy. Apollo knew Hera was at the center of this, he knew too that Poseidon was aware he claimed Helle and she had protested his actions. Yet there was little he could do; Zeus, however was a different matter. “The maid was in the water, little nephew,” Poseidon laughed, “fishing for her dinner in my Sea. Her beauty overcame me.” “I won’t argue her beauty but somehow, I think you knew the lady was spoken for.” Apollo’s eyes grew narrow, the sun dimming a bit. He turned to Helle. “Come, dear Helle, and I will see you safely to shore.” His golden light surrounded her but Poseidon didn’t want to release the lovely maid and failed to free her when she tried to step away. Apollo saw panic in her large brown eyes. “If you fail to honor my claim to the lady, uncle, know she is also under Zeus’ protection and her care given to me,” Apollo informed the Lord of the Sea. “You do not care for your assignments well.” Poseidon growled, unwilling to give in so easily to the younger god. Abruptly the air cracked, rent by a thunderbolt, though the sky was cloudless and bright. “Brother,” Zeus’ voice was clear to all present, but his form was not visible, “allow the maid her way. If she chooses to go with Apollo so be it, or with you. But let her go as she will.” “Very well, Apollo, the wench is yours. After all she is but a mortal,” Poseidon 51

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said with some vehemence. He would not suffer Zeus’ displeasure. “Come, Helle,” Apollo said again, this time a smile on his lips as she stepped to him. “What goes on here?” a light female voice questioned, her voice floating over the waves. Poseidon’s wife had returned from those far shores as Helle stepped into Apollo’s arms. “My Lord,” she asked in a honey sweet voice, “who is the mortal woman who was in your chariot?” Poseidon found he now had some quick explaining to do to appease his lovely wife-goddess who had returned home upon Zeus’ advice. Poseidon was startled when Amphitrite appeared in his chariot beside him, anger in her beautiful light blue eyes. He directed his chariot home and his attentions to domestic matters. With her step, Helle found she was back on the beach near her humble home, Apollo standing beside her. She couldn’t still her trembling from the experience and found Apollo’s warm arms wrapped around her. His hand gently laid her head on his broad chest and he planted a light kiss on her head. “You’re safe for now,” Apollo said softly to her as Astyanax ran to greet them. “Helle, what happened to you, where was that dolphin taking you?” He was full of questions, like any eight-year-old. “He was an overly friendly dolphin, Astyanax…” Helle began but Apollo interrupted her. “No Helle, tell him the truth.” Apollo smiled knowing she was trying to protect the child. “He needs to know the dangers he may face himself.” “You are correct of course, my Lord,” she conceded. “Astyanax, that was the god Poseidon in the form of a dolphin; he wanted to carry me away.” “But why, Helle; did he want to hurt you?” Astyanax asked. “Not exactly, he, well he liked me and wanted to be with me.” Helle’s face flushed. “Oh, I think I understand.” Astyanax smiled a knowing little boy smile. “Thank you, Lord Apollo, for coming,” he said seriously to the god. “I am not big enough to defend Helle.” “Astyanax, even a grown mortal warrior isn’t big enough to defend against Poseidon.” Apollo laughed easily. “Poseidon’s visit was not by accident I suspect and Lord Zeus agrees. It is time, Astyanax, for your education’s advancement by a more learned teacher. Helle has taught you what she can. I now have other things to occupy 52

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her time, and you need more protection.” He looked at the small and poorly constructed house Helle had worked hard to provide, a modest house, but a good and loving home for the boy. Apollo admired Helle’s courage and strength of purpose. “Poseidon was correct, I do not like you living here in these humble conditions and unprotected. I know my lusty uncle. He will try again to lure you away, Helle, I am sure Hera is attempting to put Astyanax in danger by removing you.” He laughed, knowing Poseidon’s desires were much like his own father’s. Apollo rested his arm around her proud shoulders, feeling her suddenly stiffen at his words, not realizing that to Helle they sounded like an insult, instead of the complement he meant them. “I am sorry, my Lord,” her voice betrayed her, “that I am no longer useful to protect the child I saved from death. Now it seems I have become a hindrance to his safety. First the soldier’s attempt on me that endangered Astyanax and now, of all things, because Lord Zeus was gracious enough to bestow not only a longer life and youthfulness upon me, but beauty as well, I have brought the attention of Poseidon upon us. It was always known that he along with Athena did not like the Trojans.” Helle stepped away from Apollo, leaving the warmth of this touch, feeling her usefulness to Astyanax was at an end. Perhaps she should have gone with the sea god and left Astyanax’s care to Apollo now that he was eight. He didn’t need a mother any longer, and Apollo would find a fine teacher for the boy. A pain shot through her chest as if an arrow had plunged through her heart. She moved further away wondering if her true age would now return, perhaps the pain she felt was the beginning. A tear slipped down her cheek. She stared out to sea. Helle startled, the here-to-fore unheard cry of a peacock pierced the wind. She turned toward the sound, back toward the ruins of Troy, to see several of the birds sitting upon the higher piles of rubble. Strange, she thought, in all my life, I’ve never seen such an unusual bird except in a cage. She knew what it was from ones she had seen in cages that had passed through the town when she was a child, but never a free one or so many. “Helle.” Apollo started to explain, when the bird’s cry interrupted, he too turned to stare at the creature, knowing where it came from. Peacocks were Hera’s favorite birds, he had no doubts she had sent the creatures to spy on Helle, Astyanax and him. If he had any doubts before, he had none now. He looked at Helle who had turned back toward the Aegean Sea, her face away from him. She had moved further down the beach, as if to distance herself from him. “Helle,” he started again, going to her, “why would 53

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you say such a thing?” “Not I, my Lord, but you,” Her voice was soft and low, full of pain she could not hide, she loved him deeply, and the pain went as deep. “Never did I say you were a hindrance or that you were not needed,” Apollo expressed sincerely, his old fear of losing the woman he loved coming back to him with remarkable clarity, his father’s warning not to lose this one ringing in his ears. “You pointed out that his safety has been put in danger twice, and both times I have been the cause. I have taught him all I can, you are correct, my Lord. I am no longer needed. He needs someone who can teach him the manly arts of warfare, and higher subjects, of which I have no knowledge. One day he will come back here to claim what is by rights, his. He no longer needs me.” Her voice broke, she ran from Apollo, down the sandy beach, enjoying the feel of running, before her youth and beauty faded, replaced by the sharply remembered pains and frail disabilities of age. In a short time, she was sure, the end of her life. She was after all, really an old woman. Tears blurred her vision and she didn’t look where she ran, only that the sand was warm under her feet. Her only wish was to have once more lain in Apollo’s arms as a young, passionate woman, and known the glorious heights of desire and the culminations of those needs. Not looking where she was going, Helle bumped into a solid form that knocked her to the sand. Slowly she stared up through tearing eyes at the glowing figure before her. Helle’s eyes came to rest on Apollo’s stern face. She glanced away unable to bear the look of anger in his deep blue eyes. Helle was angry as well but she had no powers, she found herself at his mercy. “My Lord…” she began but he interrupted her. “Helle, I did not say that you were unwanted. I only said that Astyanax needed a more learned instructor and that you needed a safer place to dwell.” His voice echoed across the waves in his anger. “Did you think I rescued you from that soldier and from Poseidon only to set you aside?” “I–ah, did not think, my Lord,” Helle managed to stammer. She was trembling. Her fear of him and his anger was intense. “Please my Lord, I will not stand in the way of your taking him, I only want what is best for the child.” “Helle,” he finally laughed, “I am taking you both. I would not leave the woman I love alone here, to face the likes of that soldier or my uncle, unprotected.” He offered her his hand, and trembling she put her small, sandy hand in his. Gently, he lifted her to 54

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her feet to wrap her in his mighty arms. “Oh, my sweet one, did you think I made love to you only to amuse myself? I love you, Helle, and intend to keep you as my own.” He brushed the sand from her face where it had stuck to her tears. His lips took hers gently, holding them until their tongues touched with the promise of later pleasures. He kissed the tip of her nose then smiled down into her teary eyes. “Foolish woman, you will soon sit at Zeus’ table next to me as my bride.” Helle could hardly believe what he had said to her. Did he really love her that much, that he would cement their relationship and honor her so highly? she wondered. “I love you,” she said to him. “I think I always have, even before I found Astyanax. I could not believe what a foolish woman Cassandra was to have turned from you, when I would have done anything to be blessed with one of your smiles.” “Now you will have them for eternity,” Apollo told her. “First we must get Astyanax to safety and I know just the place.”

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Chapter Eight

“My Lord Apollo,” Astyanax addressed his benefactor respectfully, feeling a little strange interrupting the great god Apollo while he was kissing his adoptive mother. “Where would you take us to live? This is my home, where I one day will rebuild the city that the Greeks laid ruin.” “I would have you live to do this, Astyanax, but for now you need a safe place to grow up in. You are no longer safe here. I wish you educated by the same teacher that taught my son, now grown. The centaur Chiron will welcome you and Helle on his island. There you will be safe. You and she will live in a palace that befits you as a prince and she as my lady,” Apollo explained. “My Lord, there is something I would show you that I have not burdened Helle with. I found a treasure left by my father, I am sure. I also found a scroll that he signed explaining the treasure. There is enough gold to rebuild the city, though it may not be as great as Troy once was, it will be a Kingdom again,” Astyanax said in a whispered voice that the peacocks could not hear lest they tell Hera and she arrange for the gold’s theft. Apollo studied the boy. “Say no more,” his deep blue eyes became stone cold, “should Hera discover the gold. You are correct, you will need those funds in a few years when you return, but I once showed Helle those treasures long ago when you were but a babe in her arms. The little seashells that you found next to the scroll were the clues dropped on the path to lead her to the treasure. I meant those small works of art for her as a gift. She kept only one in fear of someone questioning her new found wealth, and then questioning your birth.” “Truly, she has known all this time, and not used those funds?” Astyanax marveled, and then guessed, “The seashell she wears is the one she kept.” Helle had raised him, never had he been without food or clothing, or wanted for any necessity and always he had known he was loved. She could have lived in luxury, but kept the Trojan Gold for him, staying awake at night to weave her beautiful cloth and sell it, to provide 56

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for him. “She is a rare woman,” Apollo agreed, reading the young man’s thoughts. “Now young warrior,” he took Astyanax by the shoulder firmly but affectionately, “gather what you would bring.” He turned to Helle who stood in embarrassed silence, “You also, my love, bring whatever you wish to take, if it is too much to carry I will send someone for the rest. We are leaving at once.” Apollo was tired of sharing the small quarters with the young man and waiting until he slept to lie with Helle. Romantic romps spent on the beach under the stars with Helle had been enjoyable, but now he wanted her in the luxury and the comfort of his palace on the Centaur’s island. Helle came out at his summons a few moments later, she carried only the bottle of olive oil that always stayed full, and the golden mirror Apollo had left on his Altar for her so many nights past, both wrapped in a length of the fine cloth she had made. She stopped to stare in awe at Apollo’s golden chariot. Astyanax stood beside Apollo, waiting to assist her to stand next to the god. Perfectly matched white stallions drew them down the beach, and as their hooves touched the first of the waves at the point, the chariot became airborne to fly into the clear starlit night of the full moon evening. Time became meaningless to Helle, she was so entranced with the voyage across the sky. The horses descended to lightly touch down in a field of green grass and finally stop before a white columned palace that glowed luminescent in the moonlight. Chiron, the centaur who had instructed Apollo’s son, greeted his Lord, Helle, and Astyanax, his new pupil, graciously upon their arrival. Helle, awed by the centaur, always having been told stories of the legendary creatures but never having seen one, found she was a little afraid of the being, but his quick wit and humor quickly put her at ease. His hospitality was immediately apparent, he instructed the servants to provide a repast of fruits, vegetables, delicious breads and wine. After appeasing their hunger, Helle followed Apollo’s instructions to go with her attendants to their rooms and adjoining private bath. There they attended her as if she were a great lady, preparing her for the coming of Apollo. Helle nervously awaited his coming, chiding herself for she had now lain with him many times in her small bed and on the beach late at night when the stars were at their brightest. Now she felt like a new bride, and a painful memory appeared to haunt her happiness. Of a night, long ago when she had been a bride, married at the command of her father. She shuddered at how horribly that had ended. The birth of her son had 57

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proved the redeeming quality from the night’s encounter but only for a few short weeks before that bright star was stolen from her. She forced her mind to other things, pleasant nights spent in Apollo’s arms instead of the horror of that first night at the hands of the man her father had chosen, a brutal drunk who had beaten her because of her fear, deflowering her uncaringly. She had killed him and would have met that fate herself had he not gotten her with child from that one act. Banished from her father’s house and her village she had made her way to Troy where she had become a housemaid in Piram’s home and later a nursemaid to the young children when they found she was educated. Feeling safe in the King’s house, Helle never expected her son to be stolen from his crib soon after his birth. King Piram, hearing about the atrocity, tried to find the child, though she was only a maid but his men were unsuccessful. Helle always suspected her husband’s family had taken the boy, however King Piram’s men could not find him with them. He wasn’t found with her family either, they had disowned her and swore they considered her dead. A tear streaked down her cheek. They were gone now, dead from old age or lost in the war. “What is this?” Apollo asked gently, having surprised her in his coming and surrounding her in the security of his arms. Helle smiled, happy to see him, yet alarmed he had seen her tears. “I was but thinking of my son. Forgive me. You’ve brought me to this beautiful palace so much greater than anything I have ever known and I greet you in this fashion.” “Love of my heart, I know why you cry. Yet even I cannot answer the question of your son’s fate. I will give you other sons.” He said, the promise shone in his eyes and she didn’t doubt his word, but marveled that such a promise could be kept. “How is Astyanax?” Helle asked after the child she loved as her own. “He sleeps in his own chambers for the first time tonight, and we in our own,” Apollo told her tilting her chin to look into her bright eyes for a moment before his mouth covered hers. With the embrace, their souls touched, his immortal, hers mortal, but only for a few more hours, and then he would take her by the hand to lead her up the marble steps to Olympus as his bride. Tonight, dressed as the Lady he knew she was, Helle’s arms, now perfumed and creamed, smoothed over his thickly corded muscles. Her fingers traced each one down to his waist, caressing his finely shaped butt, cupping his cheeks, pulling him close, the feel of his hardened cock pressing against her flattened stomach. Feeling 58

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his desire so displayed made her blood rush, coursing though her body, knowing in only a few short spans of time he would pleasure her with his heavy cock. When he released her mouth, Helle kissed his muscular chest, her eager fingers tugging at his simple garment, loosening it to further place loving kisses on his throbbing cock. “Stop Helle,” Apollo commanded gently and she thought she had displeased him until she saw the fire of passion in his deep blue eyes. “Come, my love, to the bed where we may recline in comfort. Your sweet lips weaken my knees.” Languidly they stretched out on the bed together. Helle’s warm hands cupped his balls gently and she continued to worship his cock by raining kisses down on his hardened staff. Soon the blue veins that throbbed with his immortal blood drew her attention and she flicked delicate licks along these, following them to the head of his cock and slowly covered the slick head with her warm mouth. Deep, throaty groans issued from Apollo’s throat, his head lay back on the pillow in his own world, a gulf of warm bliss. His brave love from the beach of Troy, his true love, to spend an eternity with, a woman who would bear his children. Zeus had already given his blessings on their union, arrangements tentatively made. With great restraint, Apollo stopped Helle’s loving ministrations to lay her back among the pillows of their bed, a mischievous smile on his lips as he kissed her flat stomach down to the dark, thick nest of raven black hair of her mound. With gentle fingers, he spread her nether lips to tease the sensitive pink flesh of her labia. Apollo chuckled when she gasped from the pleasure he brought her. Her hands clutched the thick coverlets and as she always had done she pressed her lips together to keep her cries of passion silent. Tonight he would drive her passions until she could not contain her cries, here no one who heard them would matter. This was his palace. Using his tongue, he teased her clit until she gasped, furthering her passion by licking along the slick folds of her labia lips. With tempered and gentle intentions while he used his tongue to tease her, Apollo inserted a finger deep into her hot waiting core and slowly controlled her passions until she could not contain her cries of desire any longer. Her voice echoed from the marble walls until she covered her own mouth with her hand. Apollo took both her hands in one of his to restrain her. “I enjoy your song of passion, my love,” he told her. “Never again will you silence your cries of ecstasy.” With a sudden fierceness, he positioned himself above her to drive his cock into her fevered body, stopping for a precious second to hold her close and look deeply into her eyes, their bodies and souls joined for eternity. “I love you, 59

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Helle,” he whispered softly, and began to build a slow rhythm between them. “I love you, my Lord,” she gasped and clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist. “How can one as glorious as you, find a mortal so worthy?” “You are worthy, my Helle and have proven yourself thus,” Apollo assured her, both losing the ability to speak as he took her higher than the pinnacles of Olympus. Their breathing became as one, their motions a synchronized dance of rapture until both sang out their release. Together they lay entwined, their love still smoldering white-hot cinders, awaiting the slightest flower scented breeze from the window to fan it into new fires of blazing desire. Helle slept safely in Apollo’s arms. For the first time in her long life, she felt surrounded by love, luxury and complete safety. Apollo kissed her smooth brow and left her for a short time to journey to Olympus. There Apollo consulted with his father, Zeus, and finalized the arrangements for his wedding with Helle. Zeus sat upon his throne in the audience hall, alone for once. “Father.” Apollo bowed respectfully to his father. “How goes your life with your mortal woman, Apollo, have you found one who will remain with you?” Zeus asked with a smile, though he knew the answer already. “I have, Father. As you had predicted, she is worthy to sit at your table,” Apollo replied as a preliminary to announcing bringing Helle to Olympus. Apollo knew this was not an unprecedented act. Cupid’s wife Psyche had been a mere mortal woman until he convinced his mother of her worth. “Father, I wish to marry Helle and bring her to Olympus as my wife. I am formally asking your permission.” Zeus looked sternly down on his son, Apollo, who in the past had a difficult time with women and he rejoiced his son had found a mate. However, he wanted to test him a little before he gave his permission. “Tell me, son, how sure are you of her fidelity?” Apollo knew what his father was doing, “If you doubt my Helle, ask your wife of her attributes. My Lady Hera has watched Helle and has little reason to show favoritism toward her since she has given shelter to the son of Hector. She has watched Helle. She sent a Greek soldier to try to take her but I stopped that. As you know your own brother, Poseidon, tried to lure her away unsuccessfully. Peacocks now inhabit the ruins of Troy, how came they there, but by Great Hera’s whim?” Zeus suppressed a smile, he knew already of these happenings. “Do you think the other gods and goddesses will accept her?” 60

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“Helle is of a sweet disposition, she is respectful. When Poseidon would carry her away, she protested vigorously but remained respectful to him. Ask him, if you would,” Apollo replied. Zeus smiled. “I know of these things, my son. Very well, bring your bride to us on the morrow, she shall sit at our table, share our Ambrosia and become as one of us. I am sure Psyche will welcome the company. Have you told the maid yet?” “I have.” Apollo’s grin was wide and happy. “At times she will reside with me on Chiron’s Island, until Astyanax is old enough to begin his destiny of rebuilding Troy.” “Do not build Astyanax’s hopes too high, Apollo. Troy will never be the great city of his father,” Zeus said in a sorrowful voice. “I know this, Father, and Astyanax knows this as well, but he would rebuild what he can.” Again, Apollo bowed and returned to his marble palace on Chiron’s island before the dawn broke and Helle woke, as was her custom.

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Chapter Nine

“A wedding?” Hera asked in surprise. “Whose wedding?” “Apollo is getting married today, and I expect, my beautiful Queen, that you will greet his new wife with all the decorum she is due, and that you, as Queen, are capable of.” Hera looked at her husband with some suspicion, the only woman she knew of that Apollo was interested in was the mortal woman on the beach at Troy, and certainly Zeus wouldn’t consent to allow her to become an immortal. Then again, it would get her out of the way and perhaps she could then find a way to rid the world of the son of Hector. Hera knew she really had no choice but to be the regal Queen she was, and welcome Apollo’s wife. If the mystery bride was the woman Helle, Hera had to admit she was a fine example of motherhood. “Very well, my Lord, I will welcome the woman, tell me who she is so that I may prepare a fine feast and alert the others,” Hera conceded. Zeus smiled. “Helle is the woman, as you suspected. Apollo has found the woman he is fated to marry. I truly hope that you will allow them to be happy and put your past differences behind you.” “Of course, my Lord, she will be treated with all decorum,” Hera promised, her head held high. “And one other thing, my wife, you will promise me that you will cease your attacks on Astyanax. His life will be difficult enough just to make Troy a livable city again, it will never be the driving force it was once, so let him do what he is fated to do.” “I will leave the boy in peace,” Hera said with less conviction. However, it was a promise, and Zeus knew she was good as her word. “Thank you, Hera, I will not forget this,” Zeus said, stepping down from his throne. Hera’s promises and the pending wedding celebration had put him into a romantic mood. He pulled his wife into a warm embrace, one that left her breathless, a 62

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state she seldom found herself in as of late. “Come my wife, let us find a comfortable glade to pass the morning in, the wedding isn’t until later and I have already ordered the preparations. There is little left to be done, we can pass some time together.” Hera looked at her godly husband strangely, “Why Zeus, what has come over you?” She smiled allowing him another kiss. “How often do we get a chance to visit a private glade as two lovers?” Zeus asked Hera, a lecherous smile on his sensuous lips. “My Lord, you cause me to blush!” Hera smiled coyly, but leaned against her husband seductively. He took her hand, strolling off through the mists of Olympus into a glade Zeus caused to appear for him and his wife to enjoy. With all the romance, swirling around Olympus, his mood was in like order, and Hera was the most beautiful of his goddesses. Had he made that judgment awhile back, the entire Trojan War possibly wouldn’t have happened. Zeus shrugged as their feet touched the green grass of the glade and he drew his lovely wife down onto the heavy linen cover, spread on the clover and flower-strewn field. “We should do this more often, my lovely wife,” Zeus said to Hera. He cradled her tenderly in his powerful arms, his lips covered hers, remembering how sweet they were. It had been eons since he had made love to Hera. The war had been difficult on all the residents of Olympus, putting him and Hera at odds, not for the first time. For now, he wanted to hold his beautiful wife and enjoy her perfect form. Though he often strayed, Hera was his wife, because not only was she Queen of the goddesses, but also he loved her. Zeus kissed her milk white neck; his hands caressed her perfectly shaped breasts with their rosebud nipples. He soon began to suck their delicate tips, causing Hera to groan in anticipation. Zeus murmured his gratification, delighted he pleasured her still after all their centuries together. A mighty hand smoothed up her long slender legs to find her warm silken nest of hair between her graceful thighs. Gently Zeus teased her labia until her groans turned to mews of ecstasy followed by cries of her climax. With fierceness in his lightning eyes, Zeus looked down into Hera’s shining ones as he slowly merged with her, reveling in her gasp when he had filled her fully. “Majestic Olympus will shake when you climax next,” Zeus promised, his cock slamming into her, bringing a grunt from deep inside her. Zeus felt her hands grasp the cheeks of his buttocks. Hera’s hands kneaded Zeus’ tight muscular cheeks in rhythm to 63

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the thrusts of his cock into her hot, wet sheath. Zeus proved true to his promise, as they both found their climaxes, the grand residence of the gods and goddesses of Olympus shook, causing the residents to wonder what would cause an earthquake on Mighty Olympus. Moments later Zeus and Hera cried out their passions for each other, their voices echoing off Olympus’ peaks and across the surrounding mountain range. Zeus clasped Hera tightly. Though he occasionally was renowned to wander, he loved Hera and knew she was his true mate.

***

Apollo sat on the bed as Helle woke, “Good morning,” he said. “Oh, it is a good morning, my love.” Helle smiled the soft smile of a goodnight’s sleep. “Your maids will be in with your breakfast and to bathe and dress you. You are to follow their instructions, and not question anything they require of you. In a few hours you and I are going on a small journey and you must be properly attired.” Apollo kissed Helle’s lips, lingering a moment and wishing to stay longer still. “Tonight we will finish this.” He grinned, an inscrutable grin and left. Moments later, as he had promised, her maids entered and the ‘preparations’ began. Apollo next went to talk with Astyanax and Chiron. He wanted to tell Astyanax where he and Helle would be going later, and why the young man could not accompany them. He found Astyanax, awakened early from bed by Chiron, and his lessons already begun. They had just returned from a five-kilometer run during which time Chiron had quizzed Astyanax on the subjects he knew and found the boy well instructed by Helle. Apollo received a glowing report from the centaur. “Astyanax,” Apollo began, “I am taking Helle with me for a while. You will remain here with Chiron and do as he instructs you. Never fear, I will be watching over you and Chiron will protect you. You are safer here than at Troy.” “But my Lord, where are you taking her?” Astyanax’s voice reflected his anxiety at Helle’s pending absence. “I mean no disrespect my Lord Apollo, but–well, she is my mother.” Apollo smiled, understanding. “Astyanax, I am taking Helle to Olympus to marry her and I cannot take you with us.” He watched Astyanax’s face change, beginning to glow as the boy smiled. “Oh, she will be so happy. She has loved you for so very long.” Astyanax 64

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understood. “I will be very content to stay here with Chiron.” He laid a light hand on the centaur’s back. “Astyanax will be fine here, we will get along splendidly,” Chiron assured Apollo. “Can I see Helle before she leaves?” Astyanax asked. “Of course, she will be ready soon and I will call you before we leave,” Apollo assured him. The sun had not yet climbed to the mid-point of the day when Helle’s maids escorted her into the main dining hall of Apollo’s palace, where a light lunch had been set. Astyanax had waited with Apollo and Chiron until she arrived. They stood when she came into their presence, awed by her beauty. “My Lord, why have I been so dressed?” Helle asked, puzzled at the ceremonious manner they had prepared her. “We are leaving Helle, just you and I,” Apollo told her, standing close and looking down into her upturned and puzzled face. “Where are we going, Apollo?” She was almost afraid to ask. “To be married, my love.” He smiled. “To sit at my father’s table and eat Ambrosia.” Apollo thought he might have to catch Helle her face became so pale. For an apprehensive moment, he also feared she would refuse him, as so many had before. “My love, are you unwell?” “My Lord, I know you are not capable of a lie, but never in my most optimistic hopes did I think you would take me to Olympus,” Helle said, tears glistening in her eyes. “I have loved you for so long and to know I will have you for eternity is unimaginable.” She beamed. “Then you will come with me?” Apollo asked, a hint of fear in the god’s voice. “Yes of course, do you think me a stupid woman like Cassandra?” Helle chided him. “No, I know you are better than she.” He kissed her hands. “Let us go, my father awaits our arrival.” He drew her outside where his golden chariot and perfectly matched white stallions stood. Helle hugged Astyanax and bid him to mind Chiron until her return. Though tears were in the boy’s eyes, she saw his happiness for her there as well. She hugged the child who was as her own, knowing he would be well cared for and safe in this place. 65

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She kissed him farewell and turned to Apollo. Assisting Helle up into the chariot, he stepped in behind her and taking up the reigns signaled the team to begin their journey. With a firm, but gentle command, for his well-trained team knew their way to Olympus, they were soon airborne and the lofty mountain loomed on the horizon. Helle saw the glowing white palace of the gods and goddesses sitting on the pinnacle, only then did she begin to tremble at the magnificent dwelling. Apollo drew her close, surrounding her with his golden, warm light. Turning her face to his, he kissed her lips, allowing his love to flow into Helle, warming her to her core. When the horses drew to a halt in the courtyard of the Palace of Zeus he still kissed her lips, releasing them only when the applause of the other deities drew their attention. Embarrassed, Helle blushed red to the roots of her raven hair, much to her credit. Apollo stepped down from the chariot and assisted his bride to step down, taking her directly through the great columned halls of the splendid dwelling he halted and waited until all had taken their places. Witnessed by the other deities, Apollo led Helle before Zeus who performed the rites of marriage and blessed their union, Zeus himself giving Helle her first taste of Ambrosia and bestowing immortality upon the girl. Helle bowed low before him and before Hera whom she greatly feared. Hera took her hand gently. “My dear,” she said, “you are a fine mother and homemaker, you personify what I hold most dear in a woman, fidelity to your husband.” She smiled sweetly at her own spouse who though often wayward, was again in favor with her after their morning’s interlude. “And dedication to your home and children.” Helle blushed again. “Thank you, my Lady.” Apollo drew her politely away, the couple remaining only long enough to serve propriety, and to partake in the banquet set in honor of their marriage. Apollo and Helle withdrew to his section of Olympus where they would spend the next days in love’s embrace. Helle soon learned Olympus was more than just a palace, but paradise. Set high on a mountaintop it was a sampler of all the places on Earth. Apollo could take Helle to any type of climate she wished without leaving their section of Olympus. Helle had never seen snow and reveled in the cold stuff, her nipples puckering hard and sensitive while Apollo took her quickly as they lay naked in the white, virgin 66

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snows of a winter’s morning. Her passion’s song, as Apollo called her cries of ecstasy, was unhampered by the powdery mass. He arranged one full moon night, deep in a jungle, surrounded by wild animals. The heat and humidity adding to the fire of their desires while they worshiped each other’s bodies in a waterfall filled pool bordered by fragrant flowers of the jungle. Apollo teased her nether lips with his tongue while she floated in the pool until Helle screamed for release. She then returned the pleasure, licking and sucking his hard, ready cock until he took her slowly in the water. Of all the places they made love, Helle found their large comfortable bed her favorite and they spent many quiet but sensuous hours of continuous new erotic adventures there. Waking in the middle of the night, held in Apollo’s loving embrace was the ultimate joy for Helle. After her long life of loneliness, she sometimes would lie awake in the joy of that simple delight. During the time she was on Olympus with Apollo they would fly down to Chiron’s island and check on Astyanax. Helle missed her son, and Apollo, fond of the boy as well, missed watching his progress. Helle quickly learned that time on Olympus was different than time on Earth among the mortals. Her first visit to see Astyanax proved surprising to Helle. What seemed like a passage of only a few days, she found was more like a year, and Astyanax an older young man who no longer practiced with wooden swords. He had missed Helle greatly but grown and matured, showing the signs of the man and warrior he would become. They stayed on Chiron’s island a few days then returned to Olympus where Helle, now accepted, had become friends with the other gods and goddesses who found her respectful and intelligent. It came time for Astyanax to return to Troy and claim his birthright. This made Helle apprehensive, fearful he would be challenged and being mortal, killed. Apollo assured her they would be close by. Wearing garb identifying him as the Prince of Troy, his golden medallion well displayed now, he rode into the village closest to the ruins. Many recognized him; Astyanax looked so much like his father Hector, and he wore a helmet similar to the one his father had worn into battle the day he was killed, a helmet that had frightened Astyanax as a babe. People stopped in their everyday business to stand in awe of him and stare. 67

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Apollo, never far away should Astyanax need protection, waited with Helle at his side, but both remained masked and invisible to the populace. Astyanax must win the people on his own or he would never lead them. The decisive moment was at hand. Astyanax proudly astride his horse rested in the center of the town’s square, two loyal bodyguards flanked him, dressed in similar fashion. They waited for the large crowd that had gathered to quiet. Astyanax removed his helmet so the crowd could see him better and further see the resemblance to his father. A gasp raced through the gathering, it was as if Hector had been reborn. Astyanax scanned over the crowd, gathering the eyes of all who looked upon him before he spoke. “I am Astyanax, son of Hector, Prince of Troy,” he declared. Hearing the denials in the gathering he spoke above the din, “My life was spared by the gods when I was thrown from the battlements of Troy after the Greeks dishonorable sneak attack, and guarded by the woman who until a few years ago lived in the ruins near the beach. You knew her as Helle. She and I were under the protection of the god Apollo, the true protector of Troy until the gods turned from the city.” “Why have you come?” one brave voice in the crowd taunted. “To rebuild Troy,” Astyanax answered in simple tones. “Troy is dead,” another laughed. “No,” Astyanax replied, “only deserted.” He looked around at the meager huts the people of the village dwelled in, even the wealthier class lived in small poorly made homes. “Troy will rise again, she may not be the Troy of my father, but the homes that are unoccupied in the city are better than the ones many of you live in now.” “The Greeks will come again,” a woman yelled. “We are the ones who pay after the battles are over.” “We pose no threat to the Greeks. However, Troy sits at a cross-roads of trade routes, it can be a good and safe city again, it will take you…” Astyanax drew his sword, the people jumping at the sound, and he pointed the sword at the crowd to emphasize what he said, “…to make it so.” “With you as our Lord,” one said in a bitter, mocking voice. “I have knowledge of battle, math and the sciences, taught to me by the centaur Chiron and by Apollo himself. I offer that and my sword to lead with. I am the only son remaining of the house of Piram, it is my right.” Silence reigned among the people as they thought over what he had said. Astyanax did not reveal the Trojan Gold left to him 68

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by his father, those funds he would use to rebuild and support the new Troy until it could sustain itself. Discussions broke out. Those who managed to remain from the war, escaping the Greeks when they pillaged the city, quickly agreed, that not only did Astyanax look like Hector, but spoke like him as well. After a time, the people came to agree, the young prince was correct. Why had they not realized before that the deserted city was a better and safer place to live? A group of the younger as well as the old and stronger men broke away from the crowd. “Lead us then, young Prince, we will go with you to the city and see what is there that can be made right and livable if it so, then maybe Troy will rise from the ashes like the legendary Phoenix,” one man who spoke for the others agreed. Apollo smiled and the people of the village noticed the sun grew brighter. Taking this as a sign their patron god had returned, many of the women gathered and went to his temple to clean the altar and prepare it for worship as they had when Troy was great. Perhaps Troy would not be the great city it had been but it would once again be a city of commerce and a better and safer place to live. “He has done it, my Lord,” Helle said to her husband. Her pride was that of a mother in her son, as it should have been. “Yes, but not without you, my love.” Apollo’s smile broadened. He drew Helle into his arms to hold her cherished body close and kiss her lips that reminded him of honey. His gentle hand smoothed over her rounding stomach. She carried a son beneath her ripening breasts, his son, and for Zeus and Hera, a grandson. “Come Helle, I’ve found another wonderful place to make love to you. On the other side of the Earth where the streams teem with fish and the forests are alive with life, as you are.” Helle drew closer to Apollo, standing in his chariot, and he surrounded her in his arms as the horses drew them away to the new place he promised her.

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Author’s Note

Though Troy was never again TROY the GREAT of legend, recent archaeological evidence has proven that there were other Troy’s built on the ruins of that Great City after the Trojan War. The Trojan War of Homer’s legend occurred approximately between 1900 B.C. to 1300 B.C. or later. Troy XIIA after it was rebuilt following an earthquake that destroyed Troy VI is the most likely candidate for the one Homer wrote about in his epic poem the Iliad, there were nine in all, including XIIB, which left two other Troy’s after the battle with the Greeks for Helen. The survival of Astyanax is only conjecture, as are all myths, the romantic imaginings of the author and nothing more. This information was taken from Microsoft’s Encarta Encyclopedia 2004 and the archaeological finds of the University of Cincinnati under the direction of the Archaeologist Carl Biegen.

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About the Author

Sheila N. Eskew, aka Sultry Summers, writes sensual and erotic romance. While Sheila writes more paranormal adventure romance, Sultry pushes the envelope with her sexy vampires and tantalizing aliens. Many readers and authors also know her as "Orange", the Chat Coordinator for The Romance Studio.

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