up with Aegisthis, Agamemnon's nephew, (incestuous child of Thyestes and his own daughter, born as a revenger for his father) and together they killed Agamemnon when he came home from Troy.
Gods
Achaean
Aphroditeof Cyprus, `the Stranger', goddess of erotic love, also known as IshtarApollothe Archer, `Sun Bright', Sun God, patron of Asclepius the HealerAresgod of warArtemisthe virgin hunterAsclepiusson of Apollo, patron of medicineAtheneProncea the virgin, his sisterAttisthe castrated godBoreasgod to the north windThe FatesClotho - the Spinner, Lachesis - the Measurer, Athropos - who cuts the thread of lifeDemeterthe mother goddessEosgoddess of dawnErinyes`the kindly ones', `the revengers of blood', the Furies - Tisiphone, Alecko and MagearaHephaestussmith of the godsHerawife of ZeusHermesthe messenger and guide of the godsHygeiadaughter of AsclepiusHypnosgod of tranceMorpheuslord of sleep, brother of ThanatosPan`ageless' lord of forests and goatsPluton`the rich one', a title of Hades, god of the underworld and ruler of the deadPoseidon`Earth Shaker', `Blue-Haired', god of the seaSelenegoddess of the moonThanatos`dark angel', lord of deathZeusthe Father
Trojan
The Lady GaiaMistress of Animals, Snake Lady, one of the Three Women - Maiden, Mother and Crone, who rule ll female principles and breeding, mating, healing, growing and nurture. Her black aspect is Hecate, Destroying Mother, goddess of warThe Lord Dionysiusmale principle who rules wine, writing and intelligence, also madness, sex and sacrificeApolloSun God, aspect of DionysiusAdonisthe dead god, god of rebirth; known in Egypt as Osiris or Tammuz
Horses
Banthoshorse of GlaucusPylahorse of Diomenes
PROLOGUE
Aphrodite yawned and sighed. She stretched, the mossy garment slipping down over her perfect breasts and pearly arms, and shook back her silky hair, long and golden.
Olympus, home of the gods, basked under honeyed sunlight.
Even perfection can become tedious.
`My Lord,' she called, `Sun God and brother, shall we play a game?'
`What game, lady?' asked Apollo, lounging at the foot of the throne of the gods. `And what is the wager?'
`A golden apple, one of the Hesperides' from the tree at the end of the world. A mortal sent it to you, but I stole it,' she smiled. Apollo returned the gaze levelly, blue eyes staring into grey, and the goddess of love faltered a little.
`You have a regard for mortals,' she challenged. `You guard them and teach them and they amuse you. Let us play a game with mortals - for the apple. My power against yours, my Lord.'
`Your thesis?' asked the woman, Demeter, Earth Mother.
`That love is stronger than death,' said Aphrodite. `That there is nothing, nothing which even the gods can inflict upon humans that will have victory over love.'
`Sentiment,' snorted Athene, Mistress of Battles. `Men are foolish, clumsy, and ruled by lust and greed. Except for my own city, the realm and cities of Achaea are brutal and stupid.'
`Your city, Athens, is as brutal and stupid as the rest,' rumbled the Sea God, Poseidon. `And Mycenae, ruled Agamemnon, yes, and Tiryns and Agros, are bloodsoaked and cursed. Even my greatest storms could not wash the taint of brother murder from them. Even worse is Troy, the holy city Ilium, where an upstart king banished my worship from the walls. I am minded to the destruction of Troy, my lords.'
`Then let it be Troy,' said Aphrodite eagerly. `We shall play out our wager between Achaea and Troy; that should be a testing enough ordeal for our game. If you lose, I keep the apple. Come now, my Lord Apollo - you may have first choice in creating your creature. Will you wager?'
Apollo looked at the apple, gleaming in the immortal hand, and nodded.
He sat down on the edge of the Pool of Beginnings and breathed on the water, which misted and then cleared. A picture began to form.
`I shall have an Achaean, since you support Troy,' he commented. `A child, since we must train him all his life. A peasant, I think; they are stronger.'
Green hills and bright sun formed in the mirror-pool, idly stirred by Apollo's breath. `A beautiful boy,' he continued, `but one who does not know his beauty. A priest healer, Lady Aphrodite, not a warrior. Warriors die too easily, and if he was killed in battle I might lose my bet. Where are you, little one, favoured of Apollo?' he asked, stirring the mirror. `Come, come to me, my gage, my plaything. There.' His finger stabbed into the pool, and ripples ran out silver and sparkling. `The perfect one. His name Diomenes, but they will call him Chryse, the Golden One.'
`Too late,' gloated Aphrodite. `Thanatos, the God of Death, has him. Try again, Lord Apollo. Your plaything is dead.'
`Not yet.' Apollo cupped his hands around his smiling mouth and called. Something swam up to the surface of the pool; an angel in cloudy draperies, cradling a sleeping boy in his arms.
`Mine,' said Apollo. `Diomenes is mine.'
`Drop your prey, good dog,' taunted Aphrodite. `Snarl, dog!'
Death inclined his hemlock-crowned head with dignity and swooped down into the picture again, delivering Diomenes into the arms of Death's brother, bay-crowned Morpheus, who is called Sleep. The boy shifted unhappily, writhed in pain, and held out his arms to Death, and the gods laughed merrily.
`There,' said Apollo. `He will grow up in the temple, my temple, worshipping me. Who will give me aid? Poseidon, my Lord Zeus?'
`I will give him no gifts,' said Poseidon. `He will fear the sea. And until Troy is fallen, my Lord Sun God, I will not help you.'
`He must worship without belief,' said Zeus the Father. `You have an advantage, my son; your puppet is male and the Achaeans do not recognise the importance of women, who they call slaves and vessels for seed, of no more significance than a fertile field.
`Therefore, I will give him an independent mind, but that is all. I do not like these games,' added the Lord Father Zeus, walking away. `Mortals were not created solely for your amusement, my son.'
Apollo did not reply but bent his head, the dark hair falling over the marble-smooth shoulders, hiding his face and his bright, disturbing eyes. There was a short silence, in which Aphrodite and Queen Hera exchanged glances.
Apollo stirred the surface a little, watching the child Diomenes settle into sleep. The pool showed the interior of a white temple, and the statue of the healer Apollo, whose son is Asclepius the physician, made of ivory and gold.
He drew in a breath, snuffing the savour of burnt meat. Divine nostrils flared. When he spoke, his voice was rich with satisfaction. `Diomenes will meet your puppet, Lady Aphrodite, but all your sweet scents and fluttering doves will not be able to seduce him. If he loves her, it will
