“Why did they have to build the cursed thing all the way up the side of the mountain?”
The Agean Sea at his back, Aristaios paused in his assent and skeptically regarded the temple some hundred yards above him. A warm breeze from the sea ruffled his tunic as he stopped climbing for a moment to settle his ragged breaths. The moon shone brightly and even at this distance, with his old eyes, he could see the temple perfectly. By most standards it was small and unassuming for place of worship. It was a rectangular stone structure no bigger than some of the more ostentatious homes he had seen in the city beneath him.
He began once more up the rocky slope and the wind seemed to intensify as he climbed higher sending shivers through his body as it whipped through his sweat soaked hair. He clutched his pack tightly to him so that it should not fall down the slope. The path, if it could be called that, was rocky and slow going. Several times he had slipped, and his scraped and bloodied knees bore the proof of hi ordeal.
When he was within twenty yards of the temple the earth started to level out, and by the time he reached it, the ground in front of the temple was nearly flat. The temple’s entrance was guarded by four squat pillars only half again as tall as a man. The structure’s rear was either built in to the side of the hill or entombed by centuries of shifting stones. The temple was unadorned save for a red curtain in the doorway and a small cistern to the side of it. Aristaios paused at the cistern. He lay his pack down, cupped a handful of the cool water and drank. It tasted sweet and he drank another handful. Then, for a split second he peered into the water catching his reflection between ripples. His hair was thinning and there was more gray mixed in with his curly raven brown locks everyday. He was not a young man anymore. He saw his reflection, breathing raggedly, and matted with sweat.
“It will not do to meet the goddess in this state.” Aristaios stripped off his dirty, sweat soaked tunic. He thrust his head into the cistern and came away in a cascade of water. He stood naked before the temple, the moon reflecting like diamonds in the water running in rivulets off his body. He tore a piece off his tunic from the hem, soaked it in the cistern and began to bathe himself. He winced as he dabbed the wetted cloth over the abrasions on his knees. There was a time when these wounds would have gone unnoticed, but now they were a stinging reminder of his mortality, as were his throbbing, aching muscles. The climb had taken much out of him.
When he finished bathing, Aristaios stood on the hillside and admired the moon. It was full tonight, and large in the sky. The breeze had almost dried him, and he was chilled now. He turned to retrieve a fresh tunic from his pack and caught the blur of movement behind him. He spun around but saw nothing save for the temple and his pack lying on the ground where he had left it. He quickly walked around the sides of the temple, but there was nothing there. It was just his old mind playing tricks on him again. He slid on his clean tunic, and stood before the doorway to the temple. The red curtain stirred in the breeze. He took a deep breath, gathered up his pack and entered.
Moonlight filled the interior of the temple and Aristaios was surprised to see a large hole on the roof. He was displeased at the temples state of disrepair, but the he saw the statue of Aphrodite bathed in moonlight, and a gasp escaped him. In his head he knew that the statue was a thing of cold stone, but it shone so brightly in the moonlight, Aristaios could swear it was alive. Aphrodite’s form leaned back in quiet repose, her legs stretched out before her and one arm resting on the curve of her hip. He could see the golden strands of hair, the seductive eyes, and pouting lips. He could see the porcelain skin of her bare shoulders, and the promise of her ample bosom beneath the folds of her robes. He could very nearly smell her.
He walked to the far end of the temple, upon the dais, and, tentatively, reached out to touch the statue. His hand caressed its thigh, but he felt only cool stone beneath his searching fingers. His shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. It was a trick of the moonlight. Nothing more.
Aristaios walked to the middle of the temple, set his pack on the floor and sat down cross-legged beside it. The stone floor was cool on his legs. He sat fully within the glowing circle of moonlight and it gave his skin an azure hue. He opened his pack, withdrew a small item wrapped in a fraying, once delicate cloth, and lay it on the floor before him. He began to gently unwrap the cloth. At the center of the bundle was a golden brooch. Its intricate designs caught the moonlight and seemed to hold it there on its surface. Aristaios raised his face and regarded the statue. He brushed aside a stray lock of his graying hair, and in the moonlight framing his face, a single tear slipped down his cheek. He took a deep breath and began to speak.
“Goddess, I have come to you to ask of you a favor, nay to beg of you.” His voice became raspy as he choked on his words and he could feel more tears staining his cheeks. “This brooch belonged to my wife, Kasandra. She is dead now more than ten years past…” Aristaios paused. His eyes caught the light reflected from the brooch and it seemed to captivate him for a moment, lost in his memories.
“She used to wear this at the neck of her robes. She was so proud of this. It was the only fine thing she ever had. It’s all I have left of her now. We never had any children.” He paused again and took another deep breath to coax his words. “I loved her Goddess, more than life itself. I will never love another, yet…I am…lonely Goddess. You have already blessed me with more love in my life than any man could hope, but don’t you see? How can I be alone now…so lonely…” Aristaios’ voice trailed of. There was no sound in the temple. He could hear his heartbeat, his shallow breathing, and nothing else. Only now, stripped of humility before the likeness of the Goddess, did he realize the futility of his pleas. He was shamed at his weakness. His lack of fortitude. He began to slowly rewrap the brooch when he heard a noise behind him.
Aristaios jumped to his feet. He could feel his ankle twist as he did so. He stood in the crcle of moonlight, his ankle throbbing, scanning the darkened temple beyond for the source of the disturbance.
“Show yourself brigand! If you think this weathered old man an easy mark then you are mistaken.” Aristaios’ heart was pounding in his chest and his lungs were heaving now. He hoped that the thief did not notice. His bravado was a facade. He had neither the heart nor the desire to face a challenge right now.
“Please be calm, traveler.” Aristaios started at the voice. A feminine voice.
“Who’s there? Show yourself now!” A woman stepped hesitantly from the shadows, her white robes shining pale blue in the moonlight. She carried a clay jar. The water inside was sloshing around. Some of it had spilled down the front of her robes and Aristaios could see the outline of her breast begin to form beneath the wet material. Embarrassed, he quickly raised his eyes to meet her gaze. He could only stare at her in wonder. She had long dark hair framing her olive hued complexion. Even in the half-light she was stunning.
“Wha…who are you…?”
“I am Elektra. The temples caretaker and handmaiden to the goddess Aphrodite. I did not mean to interrupt. It’s just that there are so few visitors here anymore. When I saw you, it startled me. I’m afraid I spilled some of my water.” Aristaios’ gaze was drawn back to her chest where the water had completely soaked through now, and her robe clung to her bosom. He could see that her nipples had stiffened under the cold waters touch. He felt a twinge in his groin and quickly looked away.
