Pelleus's escort to the Hermenides estate turned out to be a much cleaned-up and more respectably-dressed Calchas, the swineherd, driving a cart led by a mule. Marinus seemed to find this amusing, but Pelleus didn't crack a smile. He held out a hand to the pig-keeper as daintily as he could manage, and clambered onto the seat beside him with a great bustling of skirts and shawl, which he kept arranging and re-arranging on his head. His hair was freshly oiled and made up, Arcadian fashion, in pretty braids – the work of Agatha – and Marinus had to say the overall effect was rather fetching. Pelleus had been transformed by this outfit overhaul into Pusanella, and even those who knew him well would have had to look twice to recognise the young man beneath the disguise.

  Marinus himself had tried to offer some more general pointers – telling Pelleus to slouch his shoulders a bit more, and to lead from the hips as he walked, rather than striding along with his chest puffed out like a peacock. Poor Pelleus did his best, and if the result was that he stooped somewhat and waggled his backside a little, at least it distracted from his manly figure.

  They barely had time to stage a tearful farewell between lovers before Calchas whipped up the mule and the care bore him and Pelleus away, up the lane. The look of desolation Pelleus threw back at his friend was not feigned, however, and Marinus felt a pang of pity as he waved back, watching the wagon slip out of sight behind the cliffs.

  Pelleus, for his part, was skittish and apprehensive. He stared at the passing scenery with a sense of foreboding, as the cart carried him towards his doom. His hands looked much too large to him, folded or unfolded in his lap, so he tried to conceal them under his shawl; it bothered him, too, that he was a few inches taller than Calchas, who was seated next to him. The swineherd didn't try to make conversation – out of deference it may be – and it didn't bother Pelleus. He had too much on his mind.

  What was I thinking? he asked himself. They will see through my disguise at once. Only a country bumpkin like Calchas, or a hobbledehoy like Anneus would be fooled! He bit his lip.

  They were in view of the estate now, and Calchas brought the cart up its long front drive. The gates were wide open to receive them, and Pelleus saw that the whole Hermenides family and several house staff had come out to welcome him, the new arrival. He suddenly felt very faint.

  Calchas brought the cart to a sharp halt, and Pelleus staggered out, almost thrown from his seat. Then someone was embracing him, planting kisses on both cheeks – it was the girl, Chrysanthe.

  "I can't tell you how glad I am to have another girl about the place. It's going to be such fun," she said, and Pelleus tried to look pleased.

  The mother looked at him appraisingly, with her nostrils flared, and Pelleus felt himself blush as she too embraced him, rather more stiffly than Chrysanthe had done.

  At last Agon Hermenides, the master of the house bowed and took Pelleus's hand lightly in his.

  "Delighted to receive you my lady. When dear old Onesimus told me of your plight I was greatly moved. I hope you will find our humble home to your liking," he said, with an obsequious smile.

  He was not old – about the same age as Anneus, Pelleus thought – but it was remarkable how much differing social positions and ways of life had brought about a contrast between the two men. With his heightened sense of his own dignity, Agon seemed the more mature at first, but then his smooth skin and pale complexion gave him more youthful an appearance than the tanned and weathered fisherman. Agon was handsome – that much was undeniable – but he had some undefinable air of corruption about him. His yellow hair was thinning on top, his eyes kept darting about shiftily, and his smile came off as more of a leer to Pelleus's eyes. He took an instant dislike to the man, though he had determined to withhold his judgement of this family until he had got to know them all.

  Likewise the lady, Hippolyta, unnerved him. There was an intensity to the gaze she fixed on him that reminded him of Agatha, the housekeeper, but this look was laden less with suspicion than something approaching hatred, he thought. Pelleus found nothing else objectionable in her – she was a beautiful woman, even if she was closer to forty than thirty, with a shapely figure and sharp, even features. Her hair was dark – Chrysanthe must have inherited her golden locks from Agon – and tied up to leave her neck bare, almost scandalous in its nakedness, with only a glittering necklace adorning her exposed décolletage over a low-cut chiton of midnight blue. Even in his condition, Pelleus felt himself growing hot under the collar, and he quickly averted his eyes from the lady of the house.

  His discomfort must have shown on his face, however, for Hippolyta said, "you look tired and flushed from your journey here" – it had only been a mile, if that – "Agon, let us show Pusanella inside so that she may take her rest and refresh herself."

  "As you say, wife," Agon replied, rather shortly, and he took Pelleus by the hand again to lead him indoors. It was amazing – Pelleus thought – he could feel Hippolyta's eyes burning into the back of his head, as it were, and he nearly stumbled over the front steps into the cool entrance hall.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Here more household staff were gathered, and Agon called out of the side of his mouth to a footman, Phanes, to bring them some fresh pomegranate juice, a great luxury even in those parts. Pelleus allowed himself a gratified smile as he was led into a long, airy living room – a kind of loggia, open on both sides with rows of marble pillars. On one side was the garden Marinus had glimpsed from his lookout post, and on the other was an inner courtyard of the house, which was almost as green and verdant with life, and which sported an ornately carved fountain, styled to look like a nymph being pursued by the faun Pan. Pelleus tried not to dwell on how much the faun resembled Anneus – it was not a light in which he liked to imagine the fisherman, all grasping hands and slavering grin.

  Aside from this oddity, there was nothing at all offensive in these new surroundings – everything spoke of comfort, ease, and cool sophistication, from the delicate columns to the woven, wicker armchairs and the sleek, golden lampstands. The footman, Phanes, came and lay a glass vessel of juice pressed from pomegranates on the long, low table that stood in the centre of this breezy living room, and Agon invited Pelleus to take a seat on one of the wicker chairs.

  "Now I am afraid I must leave you," he said, with a shifty look at his wife, "forgive me, lady Pusanella, duty calls."

  He looked glad to get out of there, Pelleus thought, and a moment later Hippolyta excused herself too.

  "I am sure you and Chrysanthe have plenty to talk about; I shan't impose on you both," she said. "I will see you at supper, which is served at seven; Phanes will show you to your room, where you may wash and change if you wish."

  Pelleus felt the strange sensation as of the air returning to his lungs, once the mistress had gone, and he relaxed in Chrysanthe's company.

  "Tell me, Pusanella, what do you make of this place?" the girl asked, taking a seat opposite Pelleus and leaning forward to read his reaction. Her hair tumbled down loosely, and with her expectant expression she did look very sweet, Pelleus had to admit.

  "You can be honest," Chrysanthe went on quickly, "I am sure it doesn't compare to your home; a bit drab and dull, I think..."

  "It's magnificent, here," Pelleus said. "I've never been in a house like it."

  Chrysanthe's eyes widened. "What, really? But you... forgive me, you seem so elegant and sophisticated, I mean... you're *engaged* and everything,"

  "Anyone can get engaged!" Pelleus said, to cover his laughter. Chrysanthe didn't seem to mind that he found her so amusing.

  "Father says I can't – not until I am 18 at least, and that's months from now," she said, and her face clouded over, "besides there isn't anyone anyone to marry on this gods-forsaken island."

  Pelleus didn't know what to say to this, but fortunately the girl went on.

  "How did you meet your betrothed? Why, I don't even know his name!" she said, with an airy laugh.

  "Marinus," Pelleus said rather begrudgingly, "and, well" – he recalled what Marinus and he had agreed upon as their backstory – "it was all very sudden and a bit chaotic... we met aboard a ship, on passage to Delos from Aeolia. You might say we were thrown together, and before I knew it, well, there we were... engaged."

  "How romantic!" Chrysanthe sighed. "For a moment I thought you were going to say you were childhood sweethearts – what a bore..."

  Pelleus gave a nervous chuckle – that had been his suggestion, shot down by Marinus. His friend had wanted their relationship to stand on pretty shaky ground, so that the inevitable transfer of his affections would not seem so cold and heartless.

  "Is he very handsome?" Chrysanthe asked, remembering to serve herself some pomegranate juice, and gulping it greedily.

  With some misgivings, Pelleus replied in the affirmative. There was definitely something wrong in this, he thought, and he regretted pursuing the plan so far. But it was too late to back out now – that, or too soon.

  I am just here to suss things out – he told himself, concernedly – I am not trying to plant ideas in the girl's head; if she happens to fall for Marinus, that is her concern. I will not fan the flames...

  "Oh, he must be handsome, to win over a beauty like you," Chrysanthe said, smiling at Pelleus with purple teeth.

  He tried to compose his face so that he looked flattered, but only managed a grimace.

  He's lucky to have me, that's for sure... he said to himself, and sipped his juice.