The Poison In The Blood Read online

  The Poison in the Blood

  Tom Holland

  Copyright © Tom Holland 2006 The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  ISBN 978-0-349-11964-9

  Cast of characters

  Alcmena - mother of Heracles

  Aphrodite - daughter of Zeus; the goddess of love

  Athena - daughter of Zeus; the goddess of wisdom

  Cronos - son of Sky and Mother Earth; father of Zeus

  Dianeera - wife of Heracles

  Helen - daughter of Zeus and the Queen of Sparta

  Hera - wife of Zeus; Queen of the Heavens

  Heracles - son of Zeus; world’s greatest hero

  Hermes - son of Zeus; the messenger of the gods

  Iolus - boy who helped Heracles defeat the hydra; the brother of Dianeera

  Odysseus - love rival of Philoctetes; husband of Penelope

  Paris - Prince of Troy; lover of Yonani; kidnapper and lover of Helen

  Penelope – Helen’s cousin; wife of Odysseus

  Philoctetes - goatherd who lit Heracles’s funeral fire; future king

  Yonani - goddess of the mountain; lover of Paris

  Zeus - King of the Universe

  ONE

  There once lived a goddess in a forest on a mountain. Her name was Yonani. She was wise and beautiful, but also very shy. She never climbed on the winds to Mount Olympus, where Zeus, the King of the Universe, had his palace. Yonani preferred trees to marble. She preferred grass and moss to gold. She would rather run with deer and speak to birds than feast with her fellow gods. On the mountain Yonani could be happy. On the mountain she could be alone.

  Below the mountain there stretched a plain. A city named Troy stood on it. The King who ruled there was the richest man in the world, so nowhere had more towering battlements, or lovelier daughters, or braver sons. Bold as they were, however, the Trojans were afraid to visit Yonani’s mountain. They never saw the goddess, but they knew that she was there. They did not wish to anger her, so they left her to herself.

  Sometimes a shepherd might climb the mountain, if he had to, if a sheep were lost. But he would never stay after dark. No one would. Then, one night, when the Queen of Troy was pregnant, she had a terrible dream. In it, she gave birth . . . but not to a child. Instead, the Queen dreamed that she gave birth to fire. The flames leapt from her room. They set all the wide streets ablaze. The city’s towers came crashing down. Troy was burned to the ground. The Queen woke up screaming. What had the dream meant? The priests knew and they told the Queen. The baby in her belly would prove the ruin of Troy. The Queen wept. The King held her in his arms . . . but he wept as well. Both knew what they had to do. When the baby was born, it was a beautiful boy. The King gave him to a shepherd who was told to take the baby to the top of the mountain and abandon him there to die. The shepherd left Troy. The Queen watched him go. Still she sobbed. She knew that she would never see her baby boy again.

  Years passed. At the foot of the mountain, Troy grew richer still. Her ships sailed over all the seas. Her golden chariots raced across the plain. Her king fathered a host of brave princes. Meanwhile, in her forest, Yonani still lived alone. Then, one day, by a spring, she saw a man. He was young and very strong. The silver water shone on his shoulders as he swam. Yonani felt her heart rise into her mouth. The man turned and looked up at her from the spring. His blue eyes glittered. Yonani gasped. She thought she had never seen anyone so desirable - not even a god. Suddenly a longing for him came over her. She did not recognise her feelings at first, but then he stood and rose from the water, and she understood perfectly what she felt. She had discovered what it was to be in love.

  Yonani was used to men feeling terror of her. The stranger, however, did not seem afraid. He fixed Yonani with a cool and easy gaze. His name, he told her, was Paris. He was a shepherd. He lived with his father and his mother at the foot of the mountain. He stepped out of the spring. Behind Yonani, leaves moved in a breeze. “Beware,” they whispered in her ear. Yonani turned. She melted into the forest. As she vanished, as fast as the wind, she glanced back over her shoulder. Paris was still standing there.

  The next day, Yonani returned to the spring. Paris came to find her. He was carrying a lamb.

  “You are the goddess of the mountain,” he said. It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

  Yonani nodded.

  “They say you can heal anything you care to. They say you only have to see a sickness and at once you know the cure.” Paris paused. “Is this the truth?”

  Yonani nodded again. She still said nothing.

  Paris held the lamb up to her. The creature’s head was lolling. All its body was limp. “Please,” he begged.

  Yonani took the lamb. She laid her hand upon its fleece. And at once she knew what was wrong. “A snake,” she said. “It was by the river. The lamb went to drink and was bitten by a snake.”

  “Can you heal him?” asked Paris.

  Yonani laid her hand upon the lamb’s head a second time. She closed her eyes. She listened to the clouds, to the breeze, to the sap rising in the trees. She felt a surge of power. It was like gold in her blood. She felt the lamb raise its head. She opened her eyes. The lamb began to struggle in her arms. She placed it down on the grass. “It is cured,” she declared.

  Paris smiled. Thank you.” He did not bow, as a mortal should to a goddess.

  “Beware,” she heard from the leaves. This time, Yonani ignored the warning. She waited for Paris to take her in his arms. When he did, she let out a puzzled sigh. Then she met his lips. And with the kiss, all her puzzlement vanished away.

  TWO

  Yonani and Paris lived together. They were in love. Yonani showed Paris all the secrets of the mountain. She showed him how to talk to the animals. She showed him how to talk to the trees. She would still sometimes hear the leaves rustle. “Beware,” they whispered. “Beware.” Yonani ignored what they said. Her joy was too strong. She wanted her happiness with Paris to last for ever.

  One day he lost a sheep and went to look for it. Yonani sat by the spring where she had first met him. Suddenly she saw a flash of gold reflected in the water. She looked up. The sky filled with light, then it was gone. The light had plunged into the forest. Yonani rose to her feet. She was afraid. She knew what the light had been: a god. But why had another god come to her forest? And where was Paris? Yonani’s heart pounded. She began to run. As she ran, all the leaves began to whisper again: “Beware.”

  Ahead of her there was a parting in the trees. Yonani stopped in the shade of the trees. The clearing shimmered with a strange glow. Paris was standing in the middle of it, but he was not alone. A god was standing there, too. He was taller than Paris. On his head he wore a helmet with beating wings. His sandals had wings as well. In his hand he held a long pole. Two snakes were entwined around it. Yonani knew him at once. His names was Hermes. He was the messenger of Zeus.

  From where she was hiding, Yonani could hear every word that was spoken.

  “I have come from Olympus,” said Hermes. “My father, Zeus, has sent me to find you. Here” - he held out something - “take this.”

  Yonani looked at what Hermes was holding. It was an apple. The apple was made of gold.

  “This was given yesterday as a gift to Zeus,” said Hermes.

  Yonani watched as Paris took it. There were words written on the apple. Paris read them aloud. “"For the fairest."“ He frowned. “"For the fairest"? Who does that mean?”

  Hermes smiled. “That is what Zeus has ordered you to decide.”

  “Why me?”

  Hermes smiled again. “Because who in the universe is fairer than the wife and the two daughters of Zeus? But which of those three is the most fair? Zeus
does not wish to have to choose between his wife and his daughters. The apple can be given only to one. The losers would never forgive him.”

  Paris turned pale. “But why would they ever forgive me?”

  Hermes didn’t answer this question. He only smiled again.

  “What if I refuse to award the apple?”

  “Then Zeus will kill you.” Hermes shrugged. “He will burn you up with a thunderbolt.”

  Paris swallowed. “so I have no choice.”

  “It would seem not.”

  As Hermes said this, a splendour filled the clearing. It was even brighter than it had been before. Paris cried out in pain, then held an arm up to his eyes. When he lowered it, a woman was standing in front of him. She was tall and regal. She wore a crown on her curling black hair. Her robes were purple. Her sandals were made of gold. “I am Hera,” she said. “I am the wife of Zeus. I am the Queen of the Heavens.”

  Paris cried out in pain again, for Hera’s beauty still hurt his eyes. But he could not stop looking at her.

  “Give me the apple,” commanded Hera, “and I will make you King of the World. You will lead great armies. You will win great victories. Everyone will bow and kiss your feet.” She held out her arm. Her fingers brushed Paris’s head.

  Paris brought his hands to his eyes. He fell to the ground in pain. When he looked up again, Hera had gone. In her place there was a second goddess. Her grey eyes were bright. She wore a helmet on her head. In her hand she held a spear. An owl sat on her shoulder. When Paris looked at her, he moaned. She, too, was so beautiful that her beauty hurt his eyes.

  “I am Athena,” she said. “I am the daughter of Zeus. I am the wisest of all the gods. Give me the apple, and you will share in my wisdom. You will know the secrets of the universe. Nothing will be hidden from you. You will see to the depths of the earth. You will see to the heights of the stars.” She held out her arm. Her fingers brushed Paris’s head.

  Paris brought his hands to his eyes. He fell to the ground in pain. When he looked up again, Athena had gone. In her place was a third goddess. Her hair was of the purest gold. Her body was clothed in the sheerest silk. Around her waist she wore a belt of jewels. Where she trod, flowers sprung. Doves followed her. Her perfume filled the air. She was so beautiful that even Yonani had to blink. Paris could not stand to look at her. He fell to his knees. He pressed his face against the flowers that had bloomed around the goddess’s feet.

  “I am Aphrodite,” she whispered. Her voice was like a stirring of lust. Yonani heard Paris moan. “I am the goddess of love. I do not promise you a crown. I do not promise you wisdom. But give me the apple, and I promise you something more. I promise you beauty. I promise you the love of the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  At last, Paris dared to look up. “Who is she?” he stammered.

  “Her name is Helen,” answered Aphrodite. “Her father is Zeus and her mother is Leda, the mortal Queen of Sparta, a city across the sea, in Greece. All the world desires her. But give me the apple, and Helen will be yours.”

  Paris moaned again. “I want her,” he said thickly.

  “Then give me the apple.” Aphrodite held out her arm. Her fingers brushed Paris’s head.

  Paris continued to look at her. His grip tightened on the apple. He raised his hand.

  “No!” cried Yonani.

  Paris looked round. Hermes frowned. Aphrodite only laughed.

  “No,” said Yonani again. She stepped out from the trees. “Paris, you are mine. Do not do this. Do not leave me. You love me. You love me. Please.”

  Paris looked at her. Then he looked down at the apple.

  “You are a shepherd,” said Yonani. “Helen is the daughter of a queen. How can you hope to win her?”

  Aphrodite clapped her hands together. “A shepherd? He is not a shepherd. He is a prince. The son of a king.”

  Paris frowned in confusion. “But my father is a shepherd.”

  “No.” Aphrodite looked at Yonani with a smile that showed she’d won. “Did you not realise? Paris is the same baby that the King of Troy ordered to be left on the mountain. There he was found by a shepherd. But that shepherd is not his father.” She smoothed her fingers through Paris’s hair. “Give me the apple, and I will lead you to Troy. Your mother, the Queen, will fall into your arms. Your father, the King, will hail you as a Prince of Troy. Then you will sail to Greece. You will steal Helen from her husband and take the most beautiful woman in the world to your bed.”

  “No!” cried Yonani.

  But it was too late. Paris raised his hand. He gave the apple to Aphrodite. She clutched it to her breasts. There was a shimmering of light, and she was gone. All the gods had gone. All except for Yonani. She stood where she was. Then she watched Paris rise to his feet, leave the clearing, and start running through the trees, down the mountainside to Troy.

  THREE

  He did not return. Yonani waited. Days passed, then weeks. Yonani felt her heart turning to stone. The mountain grew wintry with her misery. Snow settled upon the trees. The spring where Yonani had met Paris was covered by a sheet of ice. The flow of its waters froze. So did the flow of Yonani’s tears. She sat alone on the bleak mountain. There was no warmth left in her heart.

  Spring came at last. Yonani was disturbed by a shepherd. He was looking for a ewe. For a moment, she thought the shepherd was Paris -but he wasn’t. He screamed when he saw Yonani and begged for mercy. Yonani seized him by the arm. He howled. She silenced him with a flash of her blazing eyes. Then she demanded to know the news from Troy.

  The shepherd told her. Great things had happened. Everything Aphrodite had said had come true. Paris had been recognised by his parents, the King and Queen of Troy, as their long-lost son. In their love and shame, they had promised him anything. Paris had asked for a ship and had sailed on it to Greece. He had been welcomed there as a special guest by Menelaus, the King of Sparta. Helen, the Queen, the most beautiful woman in the world, had also welcomed Paris. He had captured her in the night and brought her back with him to Troy. She was there now, in Paris’s bed. All of Troy was in love with Helen. They were dazzled by her beauty.

  Yonani let the shepherd go. She felt as though her heart had cracked. She sped through the trees and reached the summit of the mountain. She looked at Troy far below her on the plain. Paris was there, somewhere within its walls, in bed with another woman. Yonani choked. For the first time, she cried. As she did so, she felt the ice in her heart turn to a fiery hatred.

  Another year passed. Rumours of war reached Yonani. One day she climbed to the summit of her mountain again, and when she looked out to sea she saw a fleet of a thousand ships heading for Troy. When they got there, a great army of men wearing bronze pulled their ships on to the beach. Yonani knew who they were. They were the Greeks. They had come with Menelaus to claim back Helen. They built their camp on the beach. The Trojans came out from behind their walls to meet them. There was a great battle. Neither side won. The Trojans withdrew to their city, the Greeks back to their camp. The walls of Troy could not be brought down, but the Greeks did not go away.

  They stayed in their camp for nine years, and for nine years the walls of Troy held firm. For nine years the Greeks and the Trojans fought. Sometimes Yonani would hear the din of battle drifting up to her through the trees. Sometimes she would see a dirty haze in the sky, as thousands of marching feet kicked up the dust of the plain. But the war never came to her forest. The Greeks, like the Trojans, were afraid of the goddess. They knew better than to climb up her mountain and risk her anger. Even the shepherds kept away now.

  So Yonani had no news of Paris. She did not even know if he were dead or alive. Her hatred of him was as strong as ever - but so too was her love. She wanted him to suffer - but she wanted him to be safe. By now it was the tenth year of the war. It seemed to Yonani, watching the plain from her mountain, that the fighting was getting even worse. Sometimes the battle could not be seen for all the arrows. The sound of bronze hitting bronze
made the horizon echo. Rivers flowed with blood. Yonani grew afraid.

  Then, one day, she heard a crashing through the trees coming up the mountain. She cupped her ear. She stood frozen to the spot, startled. Mortals had dared to enter her forest. Her face darkened with anger. At the same time she felt a surge of excitement. Now she could find out what had happened to Paris. She moved like the wind to the spring where she had first met him. There she sat and listened to the water. She also listened to the crashing of the men coming up the mountain. They were making straight for her, as though they knew where to find her; as though someone were directing them to the very spot.

  It had to be Paris. Yonani gazed through the trees and saw a group of men approaching her. They looked pale. When they saw her they lowered their eyes and began to shake. But still they climbed towards her and, as they drew nearer, Yonani saw they were carrying a stretcher.

  She rose to her feet. “Paris,” she called.

  “He is dying,” answered one of the men carrying the stretcher. “He asked to be brought to you. He said that only you could save him.”

  Yonani’s face darkened again. She stood where she was. She did not go down to meet the stretcher. She waited for it to be brought to her. The men carrying it stopped before her and lowered the stretcher.

  Yonani looked down. There was Paris. His face was burning. It was covered with beads of sweat. He was tearing at his skin. It was as though his own blood were burning inside him. He wet his dry lips with his tongue. “Yonani,” he gasped. “Yonani.”

  She did not answer.

  “Please,” he begged. “Heal me.”

  “Why should I do that?”

  “Because you can heal anything you care to. You have only to see a sickness and at once you know the cure. You think I have forgotten that?”

  “I thought you had forgotten me.”

  “No,” moaned Paris. His breath rattled. “No, no, no . ..”

  Yonani stooped and laid a hand on his forehead. It burned. She closed her eyes. She listened to the clouds, to the breeze, to the sap rising in the trees. She felt a surge of power. It was like gold in her blood. “Poison,” she said. “Poison on an arrow’s tip.”