The Age of Zeus

62. OLYMPUS

Sam was hardly in a position to say no, and anyway it would have been foolish not to say yes. A tour was a chance to spy out potential escape routes, and there was, too, a part of her that was curious to take a look round the place. Who wouldn't be curious? Olympus, for heaven's sake.

Zeus was eager to impart the statistics and data as he and Ares showed her around. The Pantheonic stronghold had been modelled on the Acropolis, with added ramparts and stockades. It occupied 3.5 square kilometres of mountainside, on a tilted plateau between the ridge of sharp peaks that constituted Olympus's summit and the secondary peak known as Ilias, at an altitude of some 2,500 metres above sea level. It was built, just like its exemplar, of Athenian limestone and marble from the Penteli region, and comprised several clusters of private quarters, a temple dedicated to each member of the Pantheon and one dedicated to them all, a central agora or meeting place, and countless courtyards, colonnades and cloisters. There was a sunken amphitheatre where the more martially-minded Olympians practised their weaponcraft, a menagerie for the monsters, and a pool for communal bathing. Water was provided by snowmelt, while food was helicoptered in from the nearby city of Katerini, courtesy of the Greek government, which had also provided, likewise for free, the materials and manpower for the stronghold's construction.

"Ordinary food?" said Sam. "I thought you lot only ate ambrosia and nectar."

"If the locals wish to pay tribute in this way," Zeus replied blithely, "who are we to turn down their largesse? Not that the gifts the Greeks come bearing are given entirely selflessly. We have brought renewed prestige to their country. Our presence has put what had become a minor, some might say inconsequential, European power firmly back on the map. It's a more than fair exchange, in my opinion."

"The Greek government may think that. The people aren't so sure. They don't like their taxes being spent on you."

"The building work was costly, I grant you, but nonetheless a small fraction of the national GDP. And the food is a very modest outlay indeed."

"Even so, other nations are forever grumbling about how Greece mollycoddles you."

"Mollycoddles?" Zeus looked amused. "Pure jealousy. The whingeing of the wishful. Besides, correct me if I'm wrong, but I've not heard anything to that effect from your own Mr Bartlett."

"I said nations, not leaders."

"Are leaders not the mouthpieces for nations?"

"Not always," Sam said. "And only a totalitarian dictator would make that assumption."

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, Sam…" said Zeus.

"Not mine they don't," Ares averred.

The tour continued, and as they walked Sam kept casting surreptitious sidelong glances at Zeus. He was unmistakably his father's son. Close up, in the flesh, the resemblance was marked. Cut the hair, trim the beard to a goatee, and you'd have a younger Regis Landesman, only with Arianna Landesman's dark eyes. The body language was a match as well.

What was this absurd pose, then, that he wasn't Xander? A bluff? An attempt to deny any connection with his past, sever himself entirely from his despised father? Or was there a deeper, stranger explanation? Had he somehow made himself forget who he'd been, and done the same to his fellow Olympians? If so, how?

Above and beyond these puzzles, though, what perplexed Sam most of all was why Zeus was being so polite and hospitable. Dionysus had told her that Zeus was consumed utterly with hatred of the Titans and wouldn't rest until they were dead, or words to that effect. Yet here she was, a Titan, alive, having been brought back from the brink by Demeter at Zeus's request, and he was treating her with a courtesy that bordered on deferential. What was going on? What was his gameplan here? She couldn't fathom it.

A sweeping flight of stone steps took them down to the stronghold's main gate, which was immense, several trees' worth of wood planed and planked and dovetailed together. The gate's rear, reflecting pictures Sam had seen of its front, was embossed with bronze plaques. Each plaque carried the emblem of an Olympian — a thundercloud for Zeus, an owl for Athena, an anvil for Hephaestus, a bunch of grapes for Dionysus, and so on.

The towering gateposts on either side were topped with platforms, and here Harpies perched. One of the monsters took flight as the three neared. It soared on batlike wings into the dusk-purpled sky and circled a few times, letting out shrill cries that resounded out across the sheer slopes below and down into the valleys. When it returned to its roost on the vacant gatepost it found another Harpy had moved in to take its place, and a vicious altercation broke out, the two bird-woman creatures going at each other with beak and talon until finally the interloper, with a flustered squawk, beat a retreat and flew to a platform further along the battlements. There, in a true demonstration of the meaning of "pecking order," it turfed off the Harpy already sitting there and settled down in its stead.

"Should you be contemplating some kind of breakout," Zeus informed Sam, "I wouldn't advise it. Our Harpies are incredibly vigilant. When I say they sleep with one eye open, I mean it. They do. And such eyes, too. Sharp as a hawk's, with night vision to rival an owl's. So even supposing you were able to open the gate, Sam, which I very much doubt, you would not get far on the other side. A dozen Harpies would be on you in a trice."

"They have, after all, been exceptionally well trained," said a female voice.

It was Hera, who sidled up to join them, accompanied by a three-headed dog on a triple leash — Cerberus.

"No one," she said, "comes within a mile of here on foot. From bitter experience people have learned better than to do that. Death by Harpy is neither quick nor painless."

"My dear," said Zeus, "may I introduce Sam Akehurst."

"I'm well aware who she is," Hera replied, giving Sam a disdainful once-over. "One of the monster killers."

Cerberus gave a threefold growl and strained on its leashes towards Sam. A trio of large, near-spherical heads came within inches of her, so close that the slobber from the knifelike fangs flecked her dress. Sam couldn't help but shy away, much to Ares's amusement.

"Scared of a stupid mutt?" he scoffed. He patted one of Cerberus's heads, which suddenly rounded on him and bit his hand while the other two heads kept their attention fixed on Sam. "Ach! You fucker," Ares hissed, shaking the hand in the air.

"Your own fault, Ares," said Hera. "You startled him. He doesn't like people coming at him from the side."

"Yes, well," Ares said, sucking his hand, "let that be a lesson to you, Sam. That dog's got a hell of a nip on him. Didn't even break my skin, mind, but if it'd been you, you'd be looking at the bleeding stump of your wrist."

"So I was sensible to be scared of him then?" Sam said tartly.

"Hmph," was Ares's reply.

"If I had my way, Miss Akehurst," said Hera, with a doughty swell of her chest, "Cerberus would right this very moment be feasting on your vitals. The way you Titans massacred my menagerie was unforgivable. Quite, quite unforgivable. However…" A glance at Zeus. "My husband is adamant that you are not to be harmed, and what the Aegis-Bearing decrees, all must obey."

"Spoken like a good little wifey," Sam murmured.

Hera flashed a glare at her. "You would do well to mind your manners, mortal. Zeus is prone to whims and fancies, like any male, but that which he gives he can also take away. Without his protection, trust me, you would not last long here."

She stalked off, dragging the thrice-whining Cerberus with her.

Zeus chuckled indulgently. "Hera the Ox-Eyed does not like it if even I so much as look at another woman. I have a history of dalliances, of course, I won't deny it. But what she ought to know by now is that I always come back to her in the end. All said and done, she is the only one for me."

Sam was aghast. "Oh my God, is that what this is? You've taken a shine to me? I'm just another of your 'dalliances'?"

"Certainly not."

"That's repulsive. It's never going to happen, you hear me? One hundred per cent never."

"Hera spoke out of turn," Zeus said, spinning on his heel. "Now come. There's still more to see."

Sam turned incredulously to Ares. "Please tell me I'm not a dalliance."

"Zeus has always had a taste for nubile mortal females," said Ares, "and ever since he saw your picture on television he's been going on about capturing Titans if possible, rather than killing them. Although," he added, "that could just be coincidence. The main thing as far as you're concerned is that, while you don't annoy him, you get to live. So, if you want my advice, try not to annoy him."

"OK," said Sam. "But no way am I sleeping with him, ever, and if that means I'll be signing my own death warrant, fine."

Ares nodded, perhaps with a touch of admiration. "Nobly put. When the time comes, should the Fates decide that I am to be your executioner, I promise I shall do you the honour of making it swift and clean."

"Thanks for that, much appreciated," said Sam, and she set off to catch up with Zeus.