The passions and vexations of the goddess of love and sexual desire, Aphrodite, were such that her son always sought to sate her considerable temper before he or some other innocent became the unfortunate target of her wrath. So when he flew to her side that afternoon, at approximately the same time as Hades and Persephone finally found time to reunite properly, he was quick to observe the furious crease on her otherwise divinely beautiful face and try to find out what was irritating her.
It took a lot of coaxing but eventually Eros was able to draw out of her what was causing her grief.
"There is a mortal girl," Aphrodite spat, viciousness in every edge of her voice, "whose parents claim that she is more beautiful than anyone, even I. Their youngest daughter is even worshipped by pilgrims seeking beauty in the land and she is thought of as a goddess on earth. Can you believe their insolence? I am worshipped secondary to a no-good, stupid, mortal wretch!"
"Take it easy, mother." Eros soothed her by handing her an ornate golden mirror so that she could admire herself in its polished depths. "The mortals are stupid. They can be persuaded of anything! And no one can compare to you. You know better than anyone the allure you have."
Eros laid the praise on thick – he had learnt he could never overdo the admiration of his mother when she felt slighted. Basking in her rose-petal and golden throne, Aphrodite sighed and laid back to admire herself. Her son spoke the truth. In physical beauty and sexual attraction she had no equal, partly because of her enchanted girdle that always rode on her hips but largely due to the manifestation of her powers. Even Zeus had experienced some grief with her. She was a shameless, laughing, flirting, playful creature and always would be. Seduction was something she did habitually; it was as natural to her as breathing.
"She needs to be punished for this," she informed her son.
Biting his tongue, the god of love checked his quiver of arrows on his back and made ready to fly to the abode of this mortal to carry out whatever would soothe his mother's aggravation. His wings fluttered, betraying his nervousness. Eros hoped her revenge for this bruise to her pride wouldn't cost too much. The last time it had caused the Trojan War.
"Go," Aphrodite ordered. "Wound her youthful heart with an arrow so that she falls deeply in love with some miserable, disgusting toad of a man who will make an unhappy marriage to the besotted thing. Her mother will be devastated and perhaps she will learn to guard her words in future."
Eros nodded. "I'll be back soon."
Aphrodite waved her hand to indicate he was dismissed.
The gods owe me huge, Eros considered silently. If I didn't do half the things she wanted me to, the world would be in chaos. Zeus my man, if you're seeing this, I deserve a break surely?
But there was no clap of thunder, no father of the gods materialised to tell Aphrodite to get a hold of herself and grow up, so Eros did as he was bid and flew off to seek Psyche.
He found her standing in a shallow stream, gently wading in the water that only came halfway to her knee, holding the ends of her dress up a little so that it didn't get damp. Barefoot, her hair tied up with string and wearing a simple gown, Eros had to admit she was lovely to look at. There was an energy about her, a shining sort of spark that flickered in her gorgeous green eyes and in the hint of a smile playing on her lips. She waded down the stream, almost skipping from stone to stone, laughing a little when she accidently splashed herself. Eros followed.
Psyche turned at one point and he thought he had been heard as he landed in the topmost branches of a tree but she didn't call out. After a minute of peering, Psyche drew her attention back to her feet and continued onwards into the water. Eros considered her, his heart thudding a little faster by the thought that he had almost been caught staring after her.
You're getting as stupid as those mortals, Eros told himself. Who cares what one young woman thinks?
She didn't seem to want attention - that was clear by the way she had been startled by the slight noise he had made. And who walked in a stream for the fun of it unless they were a water nymph or something similar? She was trying to not to be tracked. Psyche cautiously tiptoed across the slippery rocks in the stream to the other side. Then to his surprise, she called out.
"Hello? Sir? I came back. I have what you asked for. I only hope it will help…"
Eros flittered closer, moving from tree to tree until he had a better vantage point. There in the reeds he found a likely target for Psyche to fall for – some poor beggar lay half-dead from hunger in the mud, panting. It appeared that this disgusting-looking crone was who Psyche had been seeking because she leant down immediately to go to the man's side. Confused, Eros leant in closer to understand what he was seeing.
Psyche clutched a package tied to her belt and unravelled a loaf of bread for the man. But he held up a hand in protest and tried to push the food away.
"I cannot go on," the man half-sobbed, half-croaked. "There is nothing left for me in this life."
"That's not true Orpheus." Psyche was firm but caring, like a woman nursing a reluctant child.
Eros knew he should have been getting on with his mother's task but he was intrigued.
What is going on here?
"But I will never see her again…" Orpheus slumped, all the energy in his limbs drained by the love he had for a dead woman. Eros saw how his heart was overcome for someone and sighed. That ache was one he saw far too often.
"She may be in the Underworld but Orpheus, haven't you heard?" Psyche gently sat down next to the stricken Orpheus, holding the loaf of bread aloft for him. "The legend is that Persephone got to come back after being in the Underworld. Her mother Demeter grieved as you now grieved and used every ounce of cunning and power she had at her disposal because she loved her girl. She loved her as you do your fiancé."
"But… But I am no immortal," Orpheus beseeched. "I could not move the heart of Zeus as Demeter did."
Psyche tipped her head, considering his words. "Calliope is your mother, one of the nine muses! And Persephone was just a person like you with a tinge of ichor in her heart, besides… I heard that you are the finest musician in the land."
"I was." Orpheus shook his head and considered his thin, ragged body. "Not anymore."
"Could your song not sway the king or queen of the dead to let your love go?" Psyche asked him softly. "For if the birds and the beasts listen and attend and you can make the lion lie down with a lamb, what is to say that you don't have a chance of repeating Persephone's fate for your own Eurydice?"
Eros watched the possibility of her proposal wash over Orpheus and hope brightened his features. He took the bread seemingly without realising it and stuck a small portion in his mouth as he considered it.
"Music can tame anything," Psyche argued. "Music is one of the most powerful forces mortals have. It can make grown men weep and soften hearts. I think you have a real chance at life with your wife. I think you could take that chance if you wanted to."
Her words flamed the hope in Orpheus and Eros watched him push himself upright and chew the bread with renewed determination. A light had turned on in Orpheus – the fire of renewed spirit. Psyche smiled but did nothing to break the moment.
Orpheus devoured the food, placed a grateful kiss on Psyche's hand and without another word he was off, storming down past the stream to make for the road that led south. Psyche watched him go with a satisfied look on her face.
Eros was stunned. His resolution to carry out his mother's punishment wavered and he played with the end of his arrows, mulling it over.
This girl believes in love – love conquering death! She's compassionate and beautiful and doesn't deserve the fate mother wants me to write for her…
"Psyche!"
The woman's voice rung out and Eros and Psyche both winced. Eros detested the interruption to his thoughts and Psyche appeared to be dismayed by whoever it was.
"Psyche! Where are you? They're all waiting for you!"
Eros watched Psyche rub her face with her hands, brushing aside one little tear that had escaped her. Her expression was that of intense loneliness and burden. Clearly, whatever the yelling voice wanted her to do, she was not happy at all about it.
"Psyche?" Eros heard the woman getting further away. Her peered out from his high vantage point and saw that it was a lady, maybe five or so years older than Psyche, pouting with her hands on her hips. Not Psyche's mother then, but some other woman that wanted her attention.
"Go away sister…" Psyche's voice was so very quiet and desperate that for a moment Eros thought he'd only imagined the words. But Psyche got her wish after a few moments and the woman – her elder sister – plodded off to seek her somewhere else.
Psyche curled herself up into a ball and idly threw stones into the stream. The splashes of them hitting the water masked her dry sobs as she gave in to her misery.
Eros was even more perplexed. It was obvious that his mother's jealousy was completely unwarranted – Psyche was desperately lonely and unhappy being worshipped by foolish mortals who knew no better. Eros eyed her plain garb and decided that she wanted no part in what her family had devised for her.
What in all creation am I going to do? Eros was desperately torn. On the one hand it seemed downright cruel to mess with Psyche's fate and make her fall for someone who would make her life even more miserable but on the other hand Aphrodite would not be pleased. It was a nasty complication, this pity he felt for Psyche.
He hung there in the tree watching her for a very long time. Psyche mastered her misery after an hour or so and began to hum to herself, tying daisies into chains along the stream's edge. A little while after, Eros heard the sound of boots approaching and shifted himself further into the shadows, determined not to be seen.
It was a man but it was not Orpheus. This one was round with good health, grave-faced and intent on Psyche, who made no attempts to hide or get away from him. They knew each other. When the man reached her side and sat awkwardly on the ground next to her Eros realised that this had to be her father.
"Your sisters had to perform the ceremony without you," the man muttered darkly, his eyes fixed on Psyche. "Your mother went ballistic with anger."
Psyche stood in one rapid motion, full of frustrated fury.
"I have told them over and over, I won't do it anymore father! I just won't. She cannot make me sit to be fawned over like a statue of one of the deities! It isn't right and you know it."
Psyche's father nodded. Eros got the impression that they had been through this argument many times.
"I will seek the oracle of Apollo, child. They will tell us what to do."
"Father," Psyche knelt and tenderly took one of her father's hands in both of her own. "My sisters are all happily married. The have homes and husbands and are content. They will soon grant you the gift of grandchildren. Am I to sit and incur the wrath of Olympus so that mother can get her share of gold? I am to be a lonely hermit forever?" She lifted her gaze beseechingly and her father had no choice but to meet those beautiful and sad eyes of hers. "I am a woman now, father. I deserve the chance to be loved as one. But while I sit on that stupid throne and mother makes them bow to me…"
"The oracle is our only chance, sweetheart," Psyche's father touched her and she closed her beautiful eyes. "Your mother has done her work too well. The villagers are pressuring us to go one with the performances, to draw in the pilgrims and make the town prosperous. They have made threats. Only divine intervention will serve us now."
"Divine intervention?" Psyche's eyes were open again and they were wide with disbelief. "If we are not rightfully punished by the gods and goddesses, what will happen to us then? What if we are all struck down by their wrath for daring to say that I could compare to Hera or to Aphrodite?" She pulled her father close and whispered into his chest. "Daddy, I am so afraid for us."
"I know," her father sighed, his face long with regret. His voice had huskiness to it and he appeared to need to swallow a lot to speak. "The oracle will tell us what must be done to repay the slight we have made against the Olympians and then…"
He trailed off, clearly at a loss. Psyche hugged him tightly.
"Whatever happens," Psyche's father murmured into her hair as he stroked her back. "Child, whatever the gods have in store for us… I want you to know that I have prayed for weeks for them to show mercy on my most pure-hearted of daughters. You are the best of us. You have the most righteous soul and have given the gods great honour. You are brave and compassionate and kind…"
"Daddy…" Psyche pulled away and stared into his face. "Please don't talk like we're never going to see each other again." Her poor father coughed, nodded and took her hand to kiss it quickly.
"Then we best be getting back," he uttered quickly, wiping his eyes before tears could fall. "It's getting late."
They walked back along the shore in the sunset and high in the branches of a tree, sitting more fixedly than any bird, his wings catching the magnificence of the last vestiges of the day, the god of love took one of his own arrows and plunged it deep into his own chest.