David Gemmell: Lord of the Silver Bow

The storm came at dusk, and Phia remembered that the gods walked in harsh weather. She decided to speak to them herself.

The Shrine of Apollo, Lord of the Silver Bow, was close to the angry sky, and Phia thought the gods might hear her better if she climbed to it.

She was shivering now as the night grew colder, and worried in case the wild dogs roaming the hills caught the scent of the blood on her ankle. She stumbled in the darkness. Her knee struck a rock and she cried out. When she was small, and hurt herself, she would run to mother, who would hug her and stroke away the pain. But that was when they lived in a bigger house, with a flower garden, and all the uncles had been rich and young. Now they were old and grubby, and they did not bring fine presents, but only a few copper rings. They no longer sat and laughed with mother. Mostly they did not talk at all. They would come in the night. Phia would be sent outside, and they would leave after a short time.

Lately no uncles had come at all. There were no gifts, no rings, and little food.

Phia climbed higher. On top of the cliff she saw the jagged stand of rocks that surrounded the shrine. Apollo’s Leap, it was called, because, as mother had said, the golden-haired God of the Sun had once rested there, before flying back into the sky to his chariot of fire.

The child was almost at the end of her strength as she forced her way up the steep slope. Dizzy with fatigue, she stumbled into the rocks. Lightning lit the sky. Phia cried out, for the brilliant light suddenly illuminated a figure standing on the very edge of the high cliff, arms raised. Phia’s legs gave way, and she slumped to the ground. The clouds broke then, the moon shining through.

The god lowered his arms and turned slowly, rain glistening on his naked upper body.

Phia stared at him, eyes wide and frightened. Was it the Lord of the Silver Bow?

Surely not, for this god’s hair was long and dark, and Apollo was said to have locks fashioned from golden sunlight. The face was striking and stern, the eyes pale and hard. Phia gazed at his ankles, hoping to see wings there, which would mean he was Hermes, messenger of the gods. Hermes was known to be friendly to mortals.

But there were no wings.

The god approached her and she saw that his eyes were a bright, startling blue.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘Are you the God of War?’ she asked, her voice trembling.

He smiled. ‘No, I am not the god of war.’

A wave of relief swept over her. The mighty Ares would not have healed mother.

He hated humans.

‘My mother is ill, and I have no offerings,’ she said. ‘But if you heal her, I will work and work and I will bring you many gifts. All my life.’

The god turned away then, and walked back through the rocks.

‘Please don’t leave!’ she cried. ‘Mother is sick!’

He knelt down and lifted a heavy cloak from behind a rock, then, sitting beside her, he wrapped the garment round her shoulders. It was of the softest wool.

‘You came to the shrine seeking help for your mother?’ he said. ‘Has a healer visited her?’

‘He would not come,’ she told the god. ‘So I went to the temple, but I had no offerings. They sent me away.’

‘Come,’ he said, ‘take me to your mother.’

‘Thank you.’ She tried to rise. Her legs gave way and she fell awkwardly, mud splattering the expensive cloak. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘It matters not,’ he told her, then lifted her into his arms, and began the long walk back into the town.

Somewhere during that walk Phia fell asleep, her head resting on the god’s shoulder. She only woke when she heard voices. The god was speaking to someone.

Opening her eyes she saw a huge figure walking alongside the god. He was bald, but had a forked beard. As she opened her eyes the bearded one smiled at her.

They were approaching the houses now, and the god asked her where she lived.

Phia felt embarrassed, because these were nice houses, white-walled and red-roofed. She and mother lived in a shack on the wasteland beyond. The roof leaked, and there were holes in the thin wooden walls, through which rats found their way in. The floor was of dirt, and there were no windows.

‘I am feeling stronger now,’ she said, and the god put her down. Then she led the way home.

As they went inside several rats scurried away from mother. The god knelt on the floor alongside her, and reached out to touch her brow. ‘She is alive,’ he said.

‘Carry her back to the house, Ox,’ he told his friend. ‘We’ll be there presently.’

The god took Phia by the hand, and together they walked through the town and stopped at the house of the healer. ‘He is a very angry man,’ Phia warned, as the god hammered his fist on the wooden door.

It was wrenched open and the healer loomed in the doorway. ‘What in Hades…?’

he began. Then he saw the dark-haired god, and Phia saw his attitude change. He seemed to shrink. ‘I apologize, Lord,’ he said, bowing his head. ‘I did not know…’

‘Gather your herbs and medicines and come immediately to the house of Phaedra,’ said the god.

‘Of course. Immediately.’

Then they began to walk again, this time up the long winding hill towards the homes of the rich. Phia’s strength began to fail again. The god lifted her. ‘We will get you some food,’ he said.

When at last they reached their destination Phia gazed in wonder. It was a palace, a high wall surrounding a beautiful garden, and there were red pillars on either side of a great entrance. Inside they walked upon floors decorated with coloured stones, and there were wall paintings in vivid colours. ‘Is this your house?’ she asked.

‘No. I stay here when I am in Kypros,’ he answered.

He carried Phia to a white-walled room at the rear of the house. There was a woman there, golden-haired and young, dressed in a robe of green, edged with gold thread. She was very beautiful. The god spoke to her, then introduced her as Phaedra. ‘Give the child something to eat,’ said the god. ‘I shall wait for the healer and see how the mother is faring.’

Phaedra smiled at Phia and brought out some fresh bread and honey. After she had eaten Phia thanked the woman, and they sat in silence for a while. Phia did not know what to say. The woman poured herself a goblet of wine, to which she added water. ‘Are you a goddess?’ asked Phia.

‘Some men have told me that I am,’ replied Phaedra, with a wide smile.

‘Is this your house?’

‘Yes. Do you like it?’

‘It is very big.’

‘Indeed it is.’

Phia leaned forward and said in a low voice, ‘I do not know which god he is. I went to the shrine and saw him. Is he the Lord of the Silver Bow?’

‘He is a lord of many things,’ said Phaedra. ‘Would you like some more bread?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

Phaedra told her to help herself, then fetched a pitcher of cool milk, and filled a cup. Phia drank it. The taste was sublime. ‘So,’ said Phaedra, ‘your mother was ill and you went to the shrine for help. It is very high up there, and treacherous. And there are packs of wild dogs.’

Phia did not know how to respond, so she sat silently.

‘That was very brave of you,’ said Phaedra. ‘Your mother is lucky to have you.

What happened to your hair?’

‘Mother cut it. I have fleas.’ Again, she felt shame.

‘Tonight I will have a bath prepared for you. And we will find some ointments for those bites and scratches on your arms.’

The god returned then. He had changed his clothes and was wearing a white, knee-length tunic edged with silver thread, his long black hair pulled back from his face and tied in a ponytail. ‘Your mother is very weak,’ he said, ‘but she is sleeping now. The healer will come every day until she is well. You may both stay here for as long as you wish. Phaedra will find work for your mother. Does that answer your prayers, Phia?’