spoke confidingly, as if I understood. But all I knew of war came from my father’s stories of the Titans. I sipped my wine.
“War has always seemed to me a foolish choice for men. Whatever they win from it, they will have only a handful of years to enjoy before they die. More likely they will perish trying.”
“Well, there is the matter of glory. But I wish you could’ve spoken to our general. You might have saved us all a lot of trouble.”
“What was the fight over?”
“Let me see if I can remember the list.” He ticked his fingers. “Vengeance. Lust. Hubris. Greed. Power. What have I forgotten? Ah yes, vanity, and pique.”
“Sounds like a usual day among the gods,” I said.
He laughed and held up his hand. “It is your divine privilege to say so, my lady. I will only give thanks that many of those gods fought on our side.”
Divine privilege. He knew I was a goddess then. But he showed no awe. I might be his neighbor, whose fence he leaned over to discuss the fig harvest.
“Gods fought among mortals? Who?”
“Hera, Poseidon, Aphrodite. Athena, of course.”
I frowned. I had heard nothing of this. But then, I had no way to hear anymore. Hermes was long gone, my nymphs did not care for worldly news, and the men who sat at my tables thought only of their appetites. My days had narrowed to the ambit of my eyes and my fingers’ ends.
“Fear not,” he said, “I will not tax your ear with the whole long tale, but that is why my men are so scraggled. We were ten years fighting on Troy’s shores, and now they are desperate to get back to home and hearth.”
“Ten years? Troy must be a fortress.”
“Oh, she was stout enough, but it was our weakness that drew the war out, not her strength.”
This too surprised me. Not that it was true, but that he would admit it. It was disarming, that wry deprecation.
“It is a long time to be away from home.”
“And now it is longer still. We sailed from Troy two years ago. Our journey back has been somewhat more difficult than I would have wished.”
“So there is no need to worry about the loom,” I said. “By now your wife will have given up on you and invented a better one herself.”
His expression remained pleasant, but I saw something shift in it. “Most likely you are right. She will have doubled our lands too, I would not be surprised.”
“And where are these lands of yours?”
“Near Argos. Cows and barley, you know.”
“My father keeps cows himself,” I said. “He favors a pure-white hide.”
“They are hard to breed true. He must husband them well.”
“Oh, he does,” I said. “He cares for nothing else.”
I was watching him. His hands were wide and calloused. He gestured with his cup now here, now there, sloshing his wine a little, but never spilling it. And never once touching it to his lips.
“I am sorry,” I said, “that my vintage is not to your liking.”
He looked down as if surprised to see the cup still in his hand. “My apologies. I’ve been so much enjoying the hospitality, I forgot.” He rapped his knuckles on his temple. “My men say I would forget my head if it weren’t on my neck. Where did you say they’ve gone again?”
I wanted to laugh. I felt giddy, but I kept my voice as even as his. “They’re in the back garden. There’s an excellent bit of shade to rest in.”
“I confess I’m in awe,” he said, “they’re never so quiet for me. You must have had quite an effect on them.”
I heard a humming, like before a spell is cast. His gaze was a honed blade. All this had been prologue. As if we were in a play, we stood.
“You have not drunk,” I said. “That is clever. But I am still a witch, and you are in my house.”
“I hope we may settle this with reason.” He had put the goblet down. He did not draw his sword, but his hand rested on the hilt.
“Weapons do not frighten me, nor the sight of my own blood.”
“You are braver than most gods then. I once saw Aphrodite leave her son to die on the field over a scratch.”
“Witches are not so delicate,” I said.
His sword hilt was hacked from ten years of battles, his scarred body braced and ready. His legs were short but stiff with muscles. My skin prickled. He was