Chapter 32 #2
Zeus tilts his head, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.
“You do make a fair point,” he says. He’s enjoying this, I can see.
After all, no one has the power to put him on trial.
“But, in this case, Ares was too hasty. And he’s not an Olympian god anymore, by his own choice.
He’s forfeited the protection of our family. ”
“But, in this case,” another voice interjects, “he was protecting his own.”
“Eros?” My son flutters down onto the rock, a chariot following him. At the reins, looking discomfited by a journey that must have been challenging even for a proficient horsewoman, is an girl.
For the first time, Ares betrays himself. “No,” he says, alarm cracking his words. “Eros, take her away from here. Now.”
“Father,” the girl speaks up. Against the immortals, her voice is thin and quiet, but we’re all intent upon her. “I won’t go. I’m here to tell them what happened.”
Eros is smiling, his eyes warm on mine. A tentative smile starts to creep across my face in return. Hope sparks to life in my chest for the first time since this began.
Eros bows his head to Zeus. “I was in Scythia,” he says. “Charis told me what was happening and so I followed Aphrodite out there. I saw Iris’ rainbow in the sky and went to see what the commotion was. You’d all left by the time I arrived, but Alkippe was there.”
“Alkippe?”
Eros gives her his hand, helping her down from the chariot. She might be an , but she’s young. Apprehension darts across her face at the sight of all the gods. “Ares’ daughter,” Eros says.
She’s unmistakable. Despite her worry, that uncompromising glint in her eyes is just like her father’s.
“She won’t speak on my behalf,” Ares insists. “I left her in Scythia to keep her away from this.”
I take a step toward the girl. “Alkippe,” I say, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “you’re safe here.”
“Aphrodite.” I can hear the warning in his tone, the strain in his voice, but I don’t turn away.
“You’re an .” I lean down toward her. “I know how brave you are. If you want to tell us what happened, the gods will hear you. And I’ll be by your side.”
She doesn’t waver. “I want to.”
I turn to face the others, standing with her as I promised. “Let’s hear her,” I say.
Alkippe flushes, and she glances at Ares.
I squeeze her shoulder in gentle encouragement, and she takes a deep breath before she speaks.
“Halirrhothios attacked me on the plains,” she says.
“He dragged me into the trees, where no one could see. I fought him, but he’s strong and he hit my head against a branch so I was dizzy. I screamed.”
The shriek I heard, the one I thought was a strange bird-cry.
“And my father heard. He came running, and he pulled Halirrhothios off me before he could—before he could…” She trails off, her words slowing and quietening, and she looks down at the ground.
“Why didn’t you say any of this?” Zeus asks Ares.
I can see that Ares is holding steady, trying to remain implacable, but he sounds hoarse when he answers. “I wanted everyone out of Scythia,” he says. “Away from my daughter. I would never bring her here and make her face you.”
“It’s clear, then,” I say. “Ares was defending his daughter.” My mouth is dry, a sudden weakness in my knees as the tension that’s been holding me upright drains away. “This is over.”
“Hmm,” Zeus muses. “Would Halirrhothios really dare to lay hands on the War God’s daughter?”
“He planned it.” Ares swallows hard. “He thought himself entitled, as the Sea God’s son, to take the daughter of another god.” His lip curls. “You asked me what right I had to kill Halirrhothios. What right did he have to hurt her?”
Poseidon flings his hands in the air. “The right of any man to take what he wants.”
Eris claps her hands together, delighted at the turn of events, the deepening fissure between us.
Hera gives a tiny shake of her head, her mouth tight. Zeus scratches his chin, his gaze measured and thoughtful. “Go on, Ares,” he says.
“What else is there to say?” He speaks directly, matter-of-fact.
“Halirrhothios stole his father’s chariot and trespassed in Scythia.
He came upon my daughter, and I arrived just in time to see him trying to subdue her.
He had her on the ground, he was tearing at her clothes.
” At this, he stumbles slightly on his words, another crack in his composure.
“He struck her across the face, ordering her not to scream. He had the good sense to fear what would happen if the other Amazons were alerted.”
At my side, I feel Alkippe shrinking in on herself. I wrap my arm around her.
“So,” says Zeus, “he hadn’t succeeded in his attempt when you arrived. You were there in time to save your daughter from his attentions. Why didn’t you just command him to leave her alone?”
“Exactly.” Poseidon sweeps his arm in a wild gesture toward Ares. “Why did you have to kill him?” The rawness behind his words is inescapable, a wave of rage and sorrow building within him, ready to crash and break across this rock.
At last, Ares meets my eyes. “You may be right,” he says.
“I could have shouted to stop him, but I seized him instead. I pulled him off her and, when I saw the red mark on her face where he’d hit her, I flung him aside.
I didn’t care if I killed him, but I didn’t intend it either.
His head struck a boulder and split open. ”
“That’s not good enough!” Poseidon roars. “You can’t wash your hands of it like that.”
Ares doesn’t blink. “It’s what happened,” he says. “He should never have gone to Scythia. And he should never have touched Alkippe, or any other he found there. You can make of it what you will.”
Zeus nods, rubbing his bearded chin with his thumb and forefinger. “We’ve heard your defense,” he muses. “I want to hear what the gods think.”
Poseidon’s eyes meet his. Apprehension swirls inside me, and I feel my hand tighten on Alkippe’s shoulder. I fear that Zeus’ decision was made before we ever got here.
“It all comes down to one story or another,” Apollo says smoothly. “And we know what the War God’s character is like. What evidence do we need to prove that Ares is violent? Reckless? Impulsive?”
Artemis wrinkles her nose. “That is true,” she says. “And we all know mortals are breakable. If you throw one, you’re likely to kill them.”
My heart sinks. No doubt Artemis only wants to be done with this trial so that she can go back to her forests.
I’d hoped that Alkippe would appeal to her—a young woman so like the wild goddess herself, brave and free.
But her loyalty to her twin is greater, and there is no reason for Artemis to side with Ares—or with me.
“Come on,” says Dionysus. “Halirrhothios stole an immortal chariot and rode it to the land of the Amazons. That’s reckless and impulsive. He planned to attack the girl. The consequences were predictable, to say the least.”
“Ares and Poseidon are both protective of their own children,” Demeter chimes in. “Why should Ares be condemned for it?”
A glimmer of relief. I didn’t know if I could count on Demeter to defend Ares. And who could ever have predicted Dionysus?
Athena shakes her head, her lips pursed. “He went too far,” she says. “Beyond the bounds of reason.”
“He was provoked.”
I turn, astonished. It’s Hephaestus, his voice timid as he contradicts Athena but growing in strength as he continues.
“The death was accidental. If Halirrhothios hadn’t done what he did, Ares would have had no reason to handle him roughly. In these circumstances, who can blame him?”
Zeus looks around the semicircle. “Demeter, Dionysus and Hephaestus have defended Ares,” he says. “Artemis, Apollo, Athena and Poseidon stand against him.”
“It would be a dangerous precedent,” Hera says.
“To condemn a god for punishing a mortal. We must all be allowed to act accordingly when a human disobeys us or fails to show us the proper respect. Even if they are the sons of gods, they must not be immune to our justice.” She delivers this witheringly, her scorching glare directed squarely at Zeus.
“Ares is a killer.” Hermes is breezy, as merry as if this were no more than a pleasant conversation. “Just as Apollo said. Gods don’t need to resolve our disagreements with brute force. An ordinary mortal, who cares? He should have found another way to deal with Poseidon’s son.”
“Well,” Zeus muses, “four of you think Ares was right to murder Halirrhothios for his impiety. I’ll assume Aphrodite sides with him too.” He smirks. “It might be passion clouding her judgment, of course.”
“Passion has nothing to do with it,” I snap. “My sympathy is with Alkippe.”
“As I thought,” he says smoothly. “Five for Ares. And five against.”
“The decision is yours,” Poseidon says. Relief bleeds through his words. He’s confident that Zeus will choose in Poseidon’s favor, and I fear so too.
Eris must agree, because color is flooding into her sallow cheeks, excitement giving her an unearthly glow.
Perhaps she hopes to cement her position as the replacement Goddess of War.
Or else she’s thinking that whatever punishment Zeus pronounces for Ares—chaining him up in Tartarus, feeding his liver to an eagle or some new and creative torture he’s devised—will provoke a fight.
And the gods are split right down the middle.
The peace of Olympus hangs in the balance, and she strains forward, eager for it to collapse.
If it crumbles, I’m with Ares this time.
Not Zeus, and not Olympus. Alkippe’s hand is entwined in mine, her body trembling against me.
I won’t shrink from war now. Just as I felt when the Amazons were attacked, I know that this is worth any battle that comes.
Justice truly is at stake—not justice for Halirrhothios but for Alkippe.
Zeus takes his time deliberating. Ares watches him, unmoved. The tension on Poseidon’s face is relaxing, the strain dissipating as he anticipates Zeus’ edict.