Psyche
When I woke, the bed beside me was empty, and light streamed through the open door. There was no sign of my mysterious husband, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
I was still wearing the armour I’d donned the day before, but a clean chiton was folded neatly on a low table nearby. It was just my size, and my favourite colour as well – a shade of blue that was almost violet. In another room I found a hot bath ready, laden with flower petals and perfumes that wafted like steam from its surface.
Once I had cleaned myself and dressed, I sat down on the lip of the tub and stared at my reflection in the water, feeling as though I had been the one hit in the head by a fire-poker. A whirlwind had deposited me here in a house of fantasy. A god had claimed to be my husband. The monster who would seal my destiny stalked me. In the daylight, these claims strained credulity. Yet the evidence was undeniable, as tangible as the cloth that draped my body.
There had been no wedding ceremony, but perhaps gods did not observe the same customs as humans. Maybe when we returned to Mycenae, Cupid and I could be married accordingto my people’s traditions. I still didn’t understand how my mother had arranged such a match, but at least I had not been given to ugly old Nestor.
I shook myself out of my reverie and padded through the halls. When I approached the great oak table, I saw that Cupid had kept his word. A collection of writing materials – papyrus, ink, a stylus – were arranged neatly next to my breakfast of bread and honey. Outside, I heard messenger hawks calling to one another in their cages.
After I ate my fill, I dashed off a letter to my mother and father under the watchful eye of a white cat who was intensely curious about the process.I am well and unharmed, I wrote,and safely ensconced in the house of my new divine husband. After a moment’s consideration, I penned a letter to Iphigenia as well. Though a vast distance separated me from Iphigenia, throughout the years we confided all our secrets in our letters. I gave sparse details about my new husband, however, since I barely knew what to make of him myself.
Out on the terrace, I tied these messages to the feet of the birds. Then I released their tethers and watched them disappear into the cloudless sky.
What to do now? I sat, resting my chin in my hand. I found myself at loose ends, a feeling I had rarely experienced before. I desperately wanted to find the trail of the monster, but there was no point until I could get more information from Cupid, who would not be back until nightfall. I turned away from the edge of the balcony, then jumped back in alarm.
A stranger stood at the entrance to the house, watching me intently.
His eyes were a washed-out pale blue, and they rested lightly upon me. He was angular, all muscle and sinew over bone, dancing forward on the balls of his feet to investigate me in amanner that echoed the movements of the peacocks along the length of the terrace. I knew that this was not my husband; the newcomer was slighter than the form that had met me in the dark, and I was not engulfed in flames at the sight of him. But I was certain that this stranger was a god.
I can’t say exactly how I knew this. Certainly he was beautiful, features shaped with a precision that was almost uncanny, but some mortals rival the gods for beauty. Perhaps human beings carry the recognition of divinity in their blood – a legacy from Prometheus, who made us. Or perhaps it is the same instinct that prompts a rabbit to recognize the shadow of a hawk.
But I was no rabbit. I was the mistress of this house, and I stood firm. ‘Who are you?’ I asked.
‘Ah, Psyche,’ the stranger said, inclining his head. ‘I was wondering when you’d wake. You certainly like to sleep in, don’t you? I’m so glad to meet you properly! I am Zephyrus,’ he concluded with a flourish and a bow.
Unlike Cupid, this name was familiar to me. Ruler of the west wind, subject of odes by venerable old priests in the temples of Mycenae. But my awe was overshadowed by outraged recognition. ‘I know your voice! You were the one who brought me here!’
Zephyrus nodded. ‘Just so. I wanted to see for myself how you were settling in.’
Raged flared in me. ‘Were you the one who destroyed the village in Mycenae?’ I demanded. I remembered the hollow eyes of the refugees pouring into the capital city of Tiryns.
‘Ah, yes. Quite an effort, blowing all the houses around to get your attention, but I see it worked.’ He flashed me a wide grin that only heightened my anger.
‘The village is destroyed, and the planting season is approaching,’ I snarled. ‘People lost their homes!’ I fought theurge to hurl one of the flowerpots at him. I couldn’t kill a god, but I could certainly make one hurt.
‘Did they?’ he arched one brow lazily.
‘You will make reparations to assist with the rebuilding of the village.’ The venerable priests of Mycenae would tell me I should not make such bold demands of the divine, but after all he had done, Zephyrus owed me this. ‘You are a god. Don’t tell me you lack the means.’
Zephyrus stared at me blankly. Then he threw back his head in raucous laughter and slapped me on the back like an old friend. ‘You’re bold for a mortal, aren’t you? Well, I suppose I owe you a wedding present. I have no small wealth, and I will put it towards this cause that you ask.’
‘Good,’ I replied, my wrath easing.
His gaze slid away from mine, looking out to the sea. ‘Besides, I take no joy in the misery of mortals,’ he added, speaking more to the water and sky than to me, his angular face softening slightly. ‘I loved one of them once. His name was Hyacinthos.’
Was, he said. A chill crept along my skin. ‘What happened to him?’ I asked.
‘Apollo killed him.’ Zephyrus’s voice was flat and bleak.
‘Oh,’ I replied, feeling a peculiar hollowness in the pit of my stomach. Why did this unsettle me so? I had always known that mortals who became entangled with the gods often lived truncated lives.
But now I was one of them.
Zephyrus shook off his melancholy and turned to me. ‘Tell me, what do you think of your new husband?’ he asked, his initial brightness returning. ‘Do you find him handsome? Appealing? Are you in love with him?’
I felt the heat of a blush rise to my cheeks. ‘I’ve only just met him. But he’s … kind, certainly,’ I said, unsure. ‘Though Ican’t say if he’s handsome because he won’t let me see his face. He comes to me only in darkness and refuses all lamps.’ The words tumbled from my mouth before I had a chance to assess the wisdom of saying them.
