Prometheus’s brows lifted. ‘Your wife! Did she marry you like that?’ With a flick of his chin, he indicated the horse’s shape.
I reddened, but Cupid snapped, ‘Don’t be absurd. My current shape is an unfortunate necessity.’
Prometheus’s face turned to me, though I could see him flinch a little as the movement tugged the healing wound at his side. I thought I could see stars in the depths of his eyes, but perhaps it was just a reflection of the sun. ‘Forgive me, lady,’ he said, sounding sincere. ‘I did not mean to question your virtue. Tell me, what is your name?’
‘Psyche,’ I replied. ‘And I’m sorry, I should have brought a gift, a tribute.’ Though what one could offer to the creator of humanity, I had no idea.
‘Ah, “soul”,’ Prometheus remarked. ‘And my name meansforethought. What a pair we are, Forethought and the Soul. And as for tribute, don’t trouble yourself with that. The company of a beautiful woman is more than enough of a gift.’
Heat crept up my face. Cupid pawed the ground with a hoof. ‘I came to ask you a question, not to let you flirt with my wife.’
‘There’s plenty of time for questions,’ Prometheus replied smoothly, as though he was in one of the receiving rooms on Mount Olympus and not bound in chains on a mountainside. ‘I’m merely enjoying the rare pleasure of conversation.’ He turned back to me. ‘Should you desire a less surly companion, my dear, you are always welcome here.’
Cupid snorted and wheeled away.
I turned to Prometheus. ‘Stop it!’ I ordered, my shy pleasure at his flattery turning to annoyance. ‘My husband is your guest, and we have travelled a long way to speak with you. He does not deserve your mockery, even if his manners leave something to be desired.’ Perhaps it was not wise to scold a god, but the laws of hospitality came from Zeus himself.
Prometheus gave a low chuckle. ‘Perhaps my friend has learned something after all, if he has won himself such a wife.’
Cupid cropped at the grass several paces away, lifting his head to shoot us a bitter look.
I turned back to Prometheus, but his mirth dissolved into discomfort as he looked down at his wound. The scab had opened with his movements, fresh ichor beading to the surface. His eyes closed, and his breath hissed through clenched teeth.
I knew the reason this god was tortured so. A question nibbled at the corner of my mind like an insistent mouse, one that I had wondered from the first moment I heard the blind poet’s rendition of Prometheus’s story.
‘Why did you do it?’ I asked breathlessly, words falling over one another. ‘Why did you give fire to humanity? We’re grateful for it, but you must have known what Zeus would do to you.’
Prometheus’s shoulders rose and fell, making his chains rattle. ‘I suppose I did it for the same reason any immortal does anything: I wanted to see what would happen.’ He paused a moment as though weighing a secret, then added, ‘And because I have found that a life spent protecting what one loves is the greatest satisfaction of all.’
Do you love humanity?I wanted to ask. Gods did not love human beings, generally speaking, but an artisan might be fond of what he created. But before I had a chance to ask, Prometheus’s eyes lifted to the sky. I followed his gaze and saw that a black speck had appeared in the endless expanse of blue.
Prometheus sighed with a weariness as old as the earth itself. ‘It’s the same eagle every time, you know,’ he said. ‘You notice these details as the years go by. Sometimes I wonder what the poor bird’s crime was, and if it dreams of eating something other than liver every day.’
‘It will eat nothing today,’ I said fiercely, pulling an arrow from my quiver.A monster feared by the gods– perhaps I had found it at last. This eagle was feared by one god, at least.
‘Stop!’ Prometheus’s refusal was like a hand on my shoulder,and I nearly dropped my bow in shock. ‘Don’t kill the eagle. Zeus will only punish you for your actions before finding another bird to take its place. You are young, and I would not have you bring such a fate upon yourself.’
My fingers tightened around the bowstring. ‘I am destined to become a great hero. The Oracle of Delphi said so herself.’
Prometheus stared at me. It was as if his gaze was boring straight through me, as if his eyes could see secrets that I did not even know I was carrying.
‘You will not be remembered as a great hero, but a great lover,’ he finished.
A chill ran through me. I heard the resonance of prophecy in his speech. But what an inane thing to prophesize, especially after the glory of the Oracle’s promise! A great lover? I would rather have a hero’s altar and a legend told around the fire.
Concern creased Prometheus’s forehead when he saw my expression. ‘You don’t know who your husband is, do you?’ he finally asked. ‘Who he really is.’
The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Some distance away, the white horse lifted his head to track the eagle’s progress across the sky.
‘I know him well enough,’ I replied hotly. ‘And I know something else too. If I can’t free you from your torment, I can at least give your wound a chance to heal cleanly.’
When the eagle dove for Prometheus’s liver, I was there to meet it. It took three arrows to drive the beast away, fired in rapid succession. The last veered so close it tore a tuft of plumage from the eagle’s back, but at last the bird gave a cry of supreme frustration and soared back up towards the sun, circling above us before going back the way it had come.
Prometheus’s mouth twisted, his dry lips cracking, and I realized that he was smiling. I could not help thinking heseemed rather unpractised at it. ‘My thanks,’ he said. ‘You do me a great service, girl, though you deprive the eagle of a meal. I believe your husband wishes to speak to me, so I must graciously ask for your leave. Forethought thanks the Soul, and bids her farewell.’
I had been dismissed, but with such kindness and grace that I could not protest. On weightless feet, I wandered away. But Prometheus’s voice continued to echo in my mind, the words filled with sad understanding:You don’t know who your husband is, do you?
Eros
