Chapter 6

Apollo suddenly erupted into the tent, ran up to Zeus and grabbed him by the shoulder. "I can't believe you can sit here drinking while she is in agony. What is the matter with you, man? Have you no pity?"

Zeus was looking utterly confused. "What?"

"Hera! Hera, you idiot!"

"Oh my God, I forgot all about her!" Zeus got up and strode out of the tent with Apollo in hot pursuit.

They reached the communications mast and there was Hera, hanging halfway up, her wrists tethered to the mast, her feet precariously teetering on a metal strut.

"What the hell? What's she doing up there?"

"Your bloody orders, man," Apollo shouted, grabbing him by the arm and shaking him.

"I just told them to tie her to the mast, not to bloody crucify her!"

Zeus shook himself out of Apollo's grasp and began climbing up the metal structure.

Between them they lowered her down to the ground and Apollo began checking her over.

"She's still breathing," he said, "No thanks to you."

Zeus looked at him with haunted eyes. "I swear," he began. "I swear I meant her no harm. I just wanted her out of the way because she was disrupting the meeting."

Apollo rocked back on his heels. "She'll be OK," he said. "You were lucky."

Hera's eyelids flickered, then opened. She woke to find Zeus looking down at her.

"Hera," he began, "I swear I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I won't forget this," she snapped. "When my father hears of this, you're finished."

Zeus cast a despairing glance at Apollo, who turned away.

~*~

Prometheus stood at the top of the cliff looking down at the beach below. He had taken the wrong path. The Tribe was down there on the shore. There was a girl squatting on the pebbles, fishing little crabs and shellfish out of the rock pools. Her hair had fallen over her face, but he knew who it was Pandora. His heart gave a little skip. She was beautiful. For a while he just stood and watched her; drinking in her every movement, delighting in the curve of her ankle, the perfection of her toes, her golden skin, glistening in the sea spray.

He had loved Pandora for as long as he could remember and never had the courage to tell her. His mother would not have approved. She thought he was too young to marry. She was not only his mother, but the Queen, the Mother of the Tribe, the representative of the Great Mother on earth, and her word was law. With her death, his importance had diminished, but he would have been free to ask for Pandora. He would have been. But before he could ask, they had driven him away.

For the first time it crossed his mind that maybe there was a connection.

~*~

Prometheus walked along the top of the cliff until he found a path leading down to the shore. As the path wound down, he could see that the Tribe was camped at the foot of the cliff. It was the same place they camped on their way up to the mountains at the beginning of the summer. There seemed to be just women, old men and children there at the moment. The men and dogs must be off hunting. Except for Yorgo. The old dog was deaf and nearly blind, but he sensed his presence and came stumbling towards him, wagging his tail.

"Hello, Yorgo. Hello, old boy." Prometheus knelt down and put his arms around the dog, who began to lick his face enthusiastically. He felt hot tears sting his cheek. He had not realised till now just how lonely he had been without the Tribe.

The hunting must have been good in the last few days. A young woman was tending a cooking pot over a fire in the lee of the cliff and wonderful savoury smells were issuing from it. Prometheus' stomach cramped with hunger. He had eaten nothing for three days. A little further away there were hides stretched on sticks to dry. Deer, he thought. Next to them an old woman was chewing leather strips to soften them for straps. A small child, naked except for a loin string, stood with his thumb in his mouth staring at Prometheus with round eyes. Nobody else seemed to have noticed him.

"It is I," he declared, striding into the clearing, "Prometheus, the Bearer of Fire."

The old woman looked up. "Loser of fire, more like," she said. "Where the Hell have you been? The bloody fire could have gone out for all you care. Going wandering off. Forgetting your duties."

Stung by the injustice of the remark, Prometheus could only stare as the old woman went on muttering imprecations.

"I was driven away!" he cried at last. "They drove me away with stones. They stoned me!"

The old woman only shrugged and went back to chewing the leather strips.

Prometheus went over to the woman at the cooking pot. She looked up over her shoulder at him as he approached. It was Rena, the wife of Palaemon.

"Rena," he said. "I have returned."

The woman backed away from him and made the sign of the evil eye,

"Rena, it's me, Prometheus, the Bearer of Fire. I have returned."

The woman pulled the small child towards her, who struggled to get away.

"What is it? What have I done? Why are you afraid of me?"

The woman spat on the ground. "You know what you have done. You defiled the Mother. You have brought shame on the Tribe."

Prometheus stared at her in sheer horror. He could not believe what she was saying.

"I " he began, "I would never I loved my mother. I worship the Mother. I would never defile her. Why do you say that?"

"You know." The woman spat again. "You spat on her grave. Atlas saw you."

For a moment he was so shocked he could not speak. He just stared at the woman, tears welling in his eyes. The woman stared back, a look of confusion crossing her face. She was not familiar with the concept of lying. It was not necessary in the Tribe when everyone knew what everyone else did. She could not quite deal with the two different stories.

"Atlas said," she began, more hesitantly. "Atlas said you defiled the Mother. He said you were not fit to stay in the Tribe. He said " she stopped in confusion as the realisation dawned on her that Prometheus had indeed loved his mother, had always shown her respect and done his duty. When the other young men were running in the hills playing their games or following their fathers in the hunt, Prometheus had stayed at his mother's side, caring for her in her last illness.

Suddenly everything fell into place for Prometheus. He struck his hand against his forehead in anger at himself. He understood why Atlas had driven him away. The Queen had died and they would choose a new Queen. She would be chosen by the women of the Tribe in a secret ceremony no man could see. But her consort, the Sacred King, would be chosen by a foot race. And who was the fleetest runner in the Tribe? Prometheus himself.

Atlas intends to be King, he thought, and he does not want me as a rival.

"Listen!" He took Rena by the shoulders. "Has the new Queen been chosen yet?"

She nodded and looked back over her shoulder towards the entrance to a cave in the folds of the cliff.

"The foot race. Have they held the foot race yet?" The woman shook her head and Prometheus drew a ragged breath. He was still in danger then.

"I must speak to the Queen," he said. "If the men return, do not tell them I am here."

And he set off at a loping run towards the cave.