heaved a great sigh. This was turning into an extremely puzzling day. First there had been the message and the card admitting him to the Tower. Then there had been (the sigh changed in character) Maya Wilson. And then (the sigh changed again, into a faint echo of a groan) the fight in the Boat House.
Now he was having an audience with the Primate of Venus for New York.
Why?
The High Priestess’s smile gave him no hint. She raised herself to a sitting position and patted the couch. “Sit over here,” she said. “Next to me.” Then she changed her mind. “No,” she added. “First just walk over here, stand up and turn around. Slowly.”
Forrester’s brain was whirling like a top, but his face was, as usual, expressionless. He did as she had bid him, wondering frantically what was going on, and why?
After he had turned completely around and stood facing her again, the High Priestess simply sat and studied him for almost a full minute, looking him up and down with eyes that were totally unreadable. Forrester waited.
Finally she nodded her head slowly. “You’ll do,” she said, in a reflective tone, and nodded her head again. “Yes, you’ll do.”
Forrester couldn’t restrain his questions any longer. “Do?” he burst out. “I mean,” he continued, more quietly, “what will I do for, Your Concupiscence?”
“Oh, for whatever honor it is that our beloved Goddess has in mind for you,” the High Priestess said offhandedly. “I can certainly see that you will do. A little pudgy around the middle, but that’s a trifle and hardly matters. The important things are there. You’re obviously strong and quick.”
At that point Forrester caught up with the first sentence of her explanation. “The—the Goddess?” he said faintly.
“Certainly,” the High Priestess said. “Else why would I give you audience? I am not promiscuous in my dealings with the lay world.”
“I’m sure,” Forrester said respectfully.
The High Priestess looked at him sardonically. “Of course you are,” she said. “However, the important thing is that our beloved Aphrodite has selected you, William Forrester, for some high honor.”
Forrester caught her word for the Goddess, and remembered, thanking his lucky stars he hadn’t had a chance to slip, that here in the Tower it was protocol to refer to the Gods and Goddesses by their Greek names alone.
“I don’t suppose,” he said tentatively, “that you have any idea just what this—high honor is?”
“You, William Forrester,” the High Priestess began, in some rage, “dare to question—” Her tone changed. “Oh, well, I suppose I shouldn’t become angry with… No.” She shrugged, but her tone carried a little pique. “Frankly, I don’t know what the honor is.”
“Well, then,” Forrester said, his bearing perfectly calm, even though he could feel his stomach sinking to ground level, “how do you know it’s an honor?” The thought that had crossed his mind was almost too horrible to retain, but he had to say it. “Perhaps,” he went on, “I’ve offended the Gods in some unusual way—some way very offensive to them.”
“Perhaps you have.”
“And perhaps,” Forrester said, “they’ve decided on some exquisite method of punishing me. Something like the punishment they gave Tantalus when he—”
“I know the ways of the Gods quite well, thank you,” the High Priestess said coolly. “And I can tell you that your fears have no justification.”
“But—”
“Please,” the High Priestess said, raising a hand. “If the Gods were to punish you, they would simply have sent out a squad of Myrmidons to pick you up, and that would have been the end of it.”
“Perhaps not,” Forrester said, in a voice that didn’t sound at all like his own to him. It sounded much too unconcerned. “Perhaps I have offended only the Goddess herself.” The idea sounded more plausible the more he thought about it. “Certainly the All-Father would back up his favorite Daughter in punishing a mortal.”
“Certainly he would. There is no doubt of that. And still the Myrmidons would have—”
“Not necessarily. You’re well aware of the occasional arguments and quarrels between the Gods.”
“I am,” the High Priestess said, not without irony. “And it does not appear seemly that an ordinary mortal should mention—”
“I teach History,” Forrester said. “I know of such quarrels. Especially between Athena and Aphrodite.”
“And?”
“It’s obvious. Since I’m an acolyte of Athena, it may be that Aphrodite wished to keep my arrest secret.”
“I doubt it,” the High Priestess said.
Forrester wished he could believe her. But his own theory looked uncomfortably plausible. “It certainly looks as if I’m right.”
“Well—” For a second the High Priestess paled visibly, the freckles that went with her red hair standing out clearly on her face and giving her the disturbing appearance of an eleven-year-old. No eleven-year-old, however, Forrester reminded himself, had ever been built like the High Priestess.
Then she regained her color and laughed, all in an instant. “For a minute,” she said in a light tone, “you almost convinced me of your forebodings. But there’s nothing in them. There couldn’t be.”
Forrester opened his mouth, and Why not? was on his lips. But he never got a chance to say the words. The High Priestess blinked and peered more closely at his face, and before he had a chance to speak she asked him: “What happened to you?”
“A small accident,” Forrester said quickly. It was a lie, but he thought a pardonable one. The truth was just too complicated to spin out; he had no real intent to deceive.
But the High Priestess shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not an accident. A fight. Your hands are skinned and bruised.”
“Very well,” Forrester said. “It was a fight. But I was attacked, and entitled to defend myself.”
“I’m sure,” the High Priestess said. “Yet I have a question for you. Who won?”
“Won? I did. Naturally.”
It sounded boastful, he reflected, but it wasn’t. He had won, and it had been natural to him to do so. His build and strength, as well as his speed, had made any other outcome unlikely.
And the High Priestess didn’t seem to take offense. She said only: “I thought so. Just a moment.” Then she walked over to a telephone. It was a simple act but Forrester watched it fervently. First she stood up, and then she took a step, and then another step…and her whole body moved. And moved.
It was marvelous. He watched her bend down to pick up the phone without any clear idea of the meaning of the motions. The motions themselves were enough. Every curve and jiggle and bounce was engraved forever on his mind.
The High Priestess dialed a number, waited and said: “Aphrodite’s compliments to Hermes the Healer.”
An indistinguishable voice answered her from the receiver.
“Aphrodite thanks you,” the High Priestess said, “and asks if Hermes might send one of his priests around for a few minor ministrations.”
The receiver said something else.
“No,” the High Priestess said. “Nothing like that. Don’t you think we have other interests—such as they are?”
Again the receiver.
“Just a black eye and some skin lacerations,” the High Priestess said. “Nothing serious.”