Free The Poison In The Blood by Tom Holland Page B

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