159. The Ruse
The Ruse
The air of the cave was filled
with the scent of herbs and meat.
Kronos carefully ladled some
of the stew into a wooden bowl.
As he handed it to me,
he fretted, ‘I once had bowls
made of the finest silver taken
from the heart of the earth.
Gifts from my mother.’
Of course, his mother, Gaia.
He sighed as he sat with
his own bowl. ‘I think,
out of all of us, it is she
who has suffered the most.’
I pictured the kind-faced Gaia,
roots and ivy for hair,
moss-skinned, doe-eyed
watching her children
fight her grandchildren.
My stomach twisted in sympathy.
I looked at Kronos.
‘You are not as the stories said.’
He said nothing to this,
just smiled sadly and ate his own food.
I also ate the stew he had prepared,
the meat was tender and flavourful.
‘Thank you,’ I said when I finished,
‘for your hospitality.’ I stood up then,
rifling through my bag for nectar.
I imagined I would need all my strength
to walk through the caves of darkness
into the Halls of the Night.
‘I must leave,’ I said,
not looking up at him,
‘I must go to the Halls of Night
before it is discovered I am gone.’
As I found my flask,
I looked up and saw his face.
It was changed, cold, angry.
And it was then I realized
that his kindness had a price.