A Thousand Ships(37)

She turned her back on them all, determined to ignore them. She looked across the sandy shores of the low island of Aegina, where Zeus had decreed the wedding should be held. She saw all the gods and nymphs flocking together and felt a brief surge of anger that so many had come to witness her humiliation. She wished she could have her revenge upon them all.

But revenge, when it came, came from another quarter altogether, and it rolled out onto the ground, gleaming and golden.

*

Aphrodite did not notice, when it first touched her foot. She was used to people, animals and gods finding reasons to touch her, however spurious: even the trees would sometimes drop their branches to try and snag themselves in her hair. It was sometime later – when a cup-bearer hastened towards her to offer her ambrosia, before offering it to the bride, the groom, or any of the other gods – that she stepped forward to take the cup, and saw the bright sheen of metal, pushed by her sandal as it rolled away again.

Her mind was already on gold, because of Thetis’ earrings. Even Aphrodite knew that it would be unfortunate behaviour to approach the groom at his own wedding and ask if she could have the earrings he was about to give to his bride. She had considered it, nonetheless. They were so lovely: a two-headed snake forming a perfect hoop around a pair of seated golden monkeys. Strings of dark carnelian beads surrounded the circle, each one finished with a tiny golden bird. How beautiful they would look, nestled beneath her own ears. They would be lost in Thetis’ dark, seaweed locks. It was really absurd that they should belong to her and not to Aphrodite.

She was about to reach down and pick up the golden sphere, but Athene, always so sharp-eyed and grabby, snatched it first. Aphrodite had practically kicked it into her heel when she took the nectar cup.

‘That’s mine,’ Aphrodite said.

Athene looked from left to right in mock-innocence. ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘It just rolled into my foot, so I think that makes it mine.’

‘Give it to me,’ said Aphrodite. Her mouth was set into a petulant line, but both goddesses knew that this was her starting point. In a moment, she could turn on the full force of her persuasion and Athene would have to hand over the ball, no matter how much she tried to resist. No one could keep something from Aphrodite if she wanted it. No one except Hera.

‘What are you two arguing about?’ she hissed.

‘Athene has stolen my toy,’ Aphrodite said. ‘And I demand its return.’

‘It isn’t hers,’ said Athene. ‘It’s mine. Someone threw it at my feet.’

‘No one did anything of the kind. I dropped it and it rolled down the sand to you. That doesn’t make it yours.’ Aphrodite turned to Hera. ‘It doesn’t make it hers,’ she said.

‘Let me see.’ Hera reached for the ball and smirked as Athene’s hand closed over it reflexively. ‘I said to let me see it.’ Hera grabbed Athene’s fist with both hands, and prised the sphere from it. Athene tried to stop her, but as she was simultaneously trying to hold her spear, she could not.

‘It’s my ball,’ she said again. The other gods were beginning to notice that something was going on. Never averse to a good fight, they began to gather around.

‘It’s not a ball,’ Hera replied. ‘Look.’ She held up a perfect golden apple. It was almost spherical, but widened towards the top, beneath a tiny golden stalk. An indentation at the bottom allowed it to fit neatly between finger and thumb.

‘It’s still mine,’ Athene said.

‘Something’s written on it,’ said Hera, as she turned the apple in her hand. ‘Te kalliste.’

‘I told you it was mine,’ Aphrodite shrugged. ‘Who else could it possibly mean?’

There was a momentary pause. ‘Perhaps it’s mine,’ Hera said. ‘Did either of you consider that?’

‘Give it back,’ said Athene. ‘Papa!’

The gods looked around and eventually behind them to see the tall, bearded figure of Zeus, walking quickly out of earshot.

‘We can all see you sneaking off,’ Hera snapped. Zeus paused. A sigh shuddered through him. Somewhere thunder grumbled in a cloudless sky and men ran to his temples to placate him. He turned back to face his wife.

‘Did you have a question for me?’ he asked. ‘Or were you sorting things out among yourselves?’

Golden-haired Apollo nudged his sister Artemis in the ribs. These goddesses were incapable of agreeing on anything and it provided them with endless enjoyment.

‘This apple has the words “For the most beautiful” inscribed upon it,’ Hera explained. ‘There is some debate over whom it might belong to.’

‘There really isn’t,’ said Aphrodite.

‘There is,’ Athene said.

‘There is only one answer to the conundrum.’ Hera spoke over them both. ‘Someone must decide which of us should have it.’ She looked out over the sea of gods before her.

Those who had pushed their way to the front of the crowd found themselves suddenly and bitterly regretful. They fixed their eyes on the ground, as though each grain of sand must be counted. ‘And that should really be you, husband,’ Hera continued.

Zeus looked at his wife, her expression one of irritated entitlement, and his daughter, a mask of plaintive injury. His other daughter was as perfect as always, but only a fool would think that she expected him to choose either of the other two. Or that she would forgive him if he did.