‘Aphrodite!’

    I could hear Father thundering along from the nectar bar. Most inconvenient, since I was virtuously making up my annual love accounts. As goddess of this delightful occupation, I’m obliged to record all the matings I have approved – a far from easy task, since I have to be careful to conceal those that include myself, if there is to be any peace at all on Olympus.

    This time, the thunder sounded ominous unfortunately. Mighty Zeus wasn’t just after my magic cestus for yet another romantic rendezvous. Rapidly I ran through all my recent ‘crimes’: had he found out about the aphrodisiac I slipped Great Ox-Eyed Queen Hera, which had sent his queen lumbering to his bed seven nights in a row? Or about my son Eros and I playing the Cloudback machine? This is Olympus’s way of going back in time, and enabled us to see Mighty Zeus morph into a unicorn to entertain his latest nymph, only to get his horn in the way at the critical moment. In quickly unmorphing himself, he made a rare mistake and turned into a rhinoceros, which hindered proceedings even longer.

    It was neither of these. Love, at least for his daughter, was not in Father’s mind when he appeared without his usual morning majestic glory. This was one frightened god, all powerful Mighty Zeus or not.

    ‘Orpheus is dead,’ he bleated.

    This was serious, but why the panic?

    It was true that Orpheus had caused us problems on Olympus. He was the great lyre player, soother of Sirens, with so sweet a song that even we hardened gods are in tears. Although he was a mortal, we have – or had – him up to concerts here with the result that there were enough tears around to drown Niobe. No one on Olympus went to bed alone on a concert night. We were all howling too much, and thus in need of love. He would insist on singing about his beloved Eurydice and demanding to know what use his life was without her.

    I felt distinctly got at, and her death wasn’t even my fault. I admit it was bad luck to have a beloved bride killed by a serpent on your wedding day, especially since she was being chased by another man at the time. When she died, he played so sweetly we all went to the ends of Olympus to get him a special pass to Hades, the underworld, to get her back. When he arrived there he played so wonderfully he even had King Hades in tears. That’s quite something for old Granite-Face. His wife Persephone is usually the softer touch (or so most men have found when she pops out for her agreed six months on earth every year), and she added her whimpering sobs in Orpheus’s favour too.

    So King Hades rubberstamped Zeus’s orders and said Orpheus could have Eurydice back – on one condition. He should walk out of the underworld back to life, and his wife would be following him. But if he looked behind him to check he’d lose her forever. As King Hades was accused of a foul because of what happened next, these are now the standard rules for the underworld. It’s stupid red tape, but King Hades doesn’t like not being trusted; also I have shrewd suspicion it was his revenge on brother Mighty Zeus for having ordered Persephone’s release back to earth for those six months a year after Hades abducted her.

    Anyway, what happened to Orpheus? Of course, like every pantomime hero in town, he was tempted to look behind him, and in the end he did. Eurydice was whisked off to the Elysian Fields again, and it was back to the concert tours for Orpheus, who wailed about his stupidity night and day. Admittedly he wailed very beautifully, but a goddess of love can’t be in tears all the time. Not good for the complexion.

    It seemed to me that as Orpheus had apparently now passed over the River Styx he could be with Eurydice forever and be happy. But Father clearly wasn’t. I hadn’t realised he loved music so much.

    ‘Died of love?’ I asked, in case this death had professional connections for me.

    ‘He was murdered.’

    Father was obviously annoyed that I didn’t immediately faint with horror. It wasn’t good news, I admit. Still, how did I come into this?

    ‘Torn to pieces by the Maenads.’

    Poor chap. I really did feel sorry now. The Maenads are a group of crazed women who drink too much and go in for orgies tearing animals to bits. They worship Dionysus – Ah. Now I began to understand. Dionysus is one of Zeus’s many sons, god of wine and orgies, and a first class pain in the throat. If his ‘girlies’, as Dionysus likes to call these tomahawk-carrying amazons, had murdered Orpheus on his instructions, he was in for trouble – and so was Mighty Zeus.

    Father nodded gloomily. ‘Drunk again.’ Dionysus has been barred from Olympus for bringing us into disrepute, but Zeus feels responsible for him since he gave birth to him himself. Yes, really. He performed this miracle to spite the Ox-Eyed Queen who’d sent lightning down to kill his beloved pregnant lady-friend Semele. Unfortunately while he nursed the unborn baby in his mighty thigh, he drank too much, and Dionysus was the result.

    I was horrified. Bacchanalian revels (Bacchus is Dionysus’s pseudonym when he goes overboard in an orgy) don’t give Olympus a good name. After Dionysus’ birth Father made us teetotal up here, or rather nectar-total. Since we’re in charge of the world, it’s considered bad form to be drunk.

    ‘He was involved in this terrible crime?’ I asked cautiously.

    Father glared at me. ‘Not personally, of course. No son of mine would stoop to murder.’ I ran a few exceptions through my mind, but decided not to fight the issue. ‘The Maenads obviously got tired of Orpheus preferring his dead wife to their charms.’

    Feminists they might be, but they don’t like being ignored. I nodded Olympus-wise, and Father continued: ‘They hated Orpheus since he turned against women after Eurydice was taken from him.’ He gave me an old-fashioned look to see if I’d swallow this.

    I didn’t, but merely fluttered my lustrous orbs at him: ‘Oh Father dear,’ I cooed. ‘A little more to it, I’m sure. That might be the official verdict, but you wouldn’t be here if that were all.’ In fact Orpheus rather fancied his power over women, enjoying seeing them fainting at his concerts and ripping his clothes off demanding bits of his chiton and even his personal himation. I couldn’t believe even the crazy Maenads would go so far as murder though.

    ‘Could it be,’ I continued airily, ‘that Dionysus is frightened the truth might come out? That Orpheus was using his power over women to lure them away from the worship of Dionysus to that of Helios?’ Helios is a sort of sub sun god to Apollo and as Apollo is Zeus’s son naturally Helios is not popular with Father. In fact he’s cunningly avoided having him on Olympus at all, by giving him an island of his own with some cattle and sheep to look after, in between his pathetic attempts to tour the earth twice a day in a second-hand chariot.

    ‘Dionysus,’ Father roared so loudly that I knew he was thinking along the same lines, ‘would never order Orpheus’s death for such a paltry reason.’ He stopped roaring, seeing that it was getting him nowhere. ‘Aphrodite - ’ he was using his fatherly tone now ‘ - you wouldn’t mind just looking into this for your old dad, would you?’

    ‘Actually I would mind, Father.’ I believe in frankness. ‘I can’t stand Dionysus, I’m not paid to investigate awkward murders and I think Dionysus ordered the Maenads to kill him.’

    His mighty thundrous brows darkened. ‘An unfortunate decision, my dear. There is another suspect, you see.’

    ‘Who?’

    ‘You.’

    ‘Me?’ I stared at him, so shocked I completely forgot to fill my eyes with tears. Instead I seized a quick nectar, if only for time to think.

    ‘That got you, didn’t it?’ Father looked pleased with his coup de main. ‘Why?’ I could hear my voice wobbling, especially since I now had a fair idea what was coming.

    ‘I seem to recall your slanging match with Calliope.’

    I was right. Calliope is one of the muses, my former dressmaker – and Orpheus’s mother. We are, I admit, not on good terms. I also admit that – in an unusual excess of venom so far from my usual sweet nature – I once swore vengeance on her, her husband and family But that was aeons ago, and she took vengeance on me by styling my chiton so badly that my lover Adonis was completely turned off. It took two days of his precious six months in the world before he would even look at my peerless naked body. My disagreement with his mother had been caused over Adonis in fact. When he died, that woman dared to take Persephone’s side in demanding that he remained in the underworld, despite the fact that I, goddess of love, needed him at my side. Persephone always runs back to her mother when she’s on earth for her six months and then bawls her eyes out when she has to retire back to sourfaced Hades. Now there’s a man who never asks for my cestus. Persephone should be grateful for that.

    ‘What slanging match?’ I demanded innocently. It was worth a shot.

    ‘Shall we look at Cloudback together, dear child?’ Father had got me there, and he knew it.

    ‘Father,’ I threw myself at his feet, hoping they swept these floors occasionally. I had my pure white chiton on. ‘You know I didn’t urge those women to kill darling Orpheus.’

    ‘There, there, my child,’ he answered complacently, patting my golden-haired head. ‘I know you didn’t – but nor did Dionysus. Understand?’ He viciously tweaked a golden hair to leave me in no doubt.

    I did see his point.

    ‘Mighty Zeus,’ I said sullenly. ‘Your wish is my command.’

    ‘My command is your duty.’

    But my magic girdle is mine, I thought to myself as I snivelled my agreement.

*****

    I was slumped in gloom after he’d gone. I knew I should consult Cloudback to view the dreadful deed for myself, even though it would put me off my ambrosia salad. It did. A more gory sight I hope never to behold. I kept a sharp eye out for Dionysus rallying his female troops, but there was no sign of him. I don’t know what those women had had to drink, but it must have been powerful stuff. Half of them carried a thyrsus, their supposedly magical wand, though it’s really a fennel root. Pathetic. The others waved torches and branches. There must have been some knives around too, for there wasn’t much left of Orpheus by the time they’d finished. Only his head was still around, and they tossed that into the river along with his lyre. Poor Orpheus. I genuinely cried this time. If at least his head wasn’t buried he wouldn’t even get to the underworld, and be reunited with Eurydice. It was one of Hades’ strictest rules that you had to be buried in order to receive the honour of his company. I racked my brains for a clue.

    ‘You look as cheerful as Hades on a bad day.’ Artemis, goddess of hunting, laughed her head off behind me. ‘What’s up? Lost a lover to Hera, have you?’

    This was the ultimate insult, but I was beyond caring. Even maiden sister Artemis didn’t have the power to hurt me. So I told her about my plight.

    ‘Orpheus? That’s a pity. I enjoy his cantatas.’

    ‘Father says I did it,’ I told her dolefully.

    ‘I say, that’s a bit thick.’

    So’s she. All Artemis needs is a hockey stick or a gun in her hand and she’s happy. Mind you, both are substitutes for the real thing. Even when peeping tom Acteon saw her in the nude she didn’t take advantage of it. She lost her rag and had him – hey! torn to pieces?

    Regretfully, even I didn’t think she had the nous to do the same to Orpheus, but it did set me thinking. ‘Artemis!’ I leapt up joyfully, and kissed her. She seemed so pleased you’d think I came from Lesbos. ‘I see it all,’ I informed her.

    She looked blank. ‘What?’

    ‘It was Aristaeus ordered Orpheus’s death.’

    ‘Now steady on, Aphro. He was - ’ she gulped, ‘ - Acteon’s father.’

    ‘Yes, but before that, he had a yen for Eurydice. He was chasing her at the time she got bitten by the snake.’

    ‘So what? Why take it out on Orpheus?’

    ‘Eurydice,’ I reminded her, ‘was a dryad.’

    ‘One of those tree-girls?’ Artemis looked interested. Sometimes I really wonder about that woman.

    ‘Don’t you remember? The rest of the dryad tribe took their revenge on Aristaeus for her death.’

    ‘Did they?’

    They really should teach some history on Olympus. Still, Artemis had led me to the obvious suspect. Aristaeus was a pompous twit from what I remembered. He must have buttered up the dryads after they’d had their revenge, and then got them to tear Orpheus to pieces. He blamed Orpheus for being so stupid as not to bring Eurydice back to life – i.e. back to him.

    I dressed very carefully for my visit to Aristaeus, and not merely because he lives in the countryside, far from anyone except his poor wife who must have a skin like a rhinoceros. She’d need it.

    I materialised at a cautious distance from the white-helmeted plump individual I recognised as Aristaeus. Rushing around with a net is not a manly occupation in my view. Sorry, didn’t I make it clear?

    Bees!

    Swarms and swarms and swarms of them. They are his great passion in life. He is one of the main producers of Olympus’s food and drink supplies. This was how the dryads took revenge for the death of Eurydice – they wiped out his swarms. So serious was the food shortage on Olympus he had to go crawling to the dryads asking for permission to replace them.

    ‘You creep,’ I announced myself sweetly. Any other man, seeing the goddess of love arrive, would at least be interested, if not overwhelmed by my beauty. Not Aristaeus. Perhaps it was my all-concealing costume. His bees cannot kill me, but there is nothing so irritating as bees getting in one’s chiton or worse in my lustrous locks. I could end up like Medusa, which would pose a serious threat to my career. ‘What did you offer the dryads to get your new bees?’ I demanded.

    ‘Humph. ... Er.’ Inside his helmet, I could see his piggy eyes looking very frightened.

    ‘You told them you’d craze the Maenads with bees, didn’t you, and fill their heads with talk of how much Orpheus despised them, so that they’d end up killing him.’

    ‘You think I’d reunite that stupid fiddler with Eurydice? Of course I wouldn’t. I’d want to keep him apart from her, wouldn’t I?’

    I was losing the plot. He had a point.

    Or did he? I thought furiously, and recaptured the truth of it. ‘But he wouldn’t be reunited with her. He wasn’t to be buried – that was the order you gave them.’

    ‘Great Goddess , you’re behind the times.’

    ‘I am a goddess. I am in front, not behind,’ I replied with dignity.

    ‘No, no. News has just come over the Pan pipes that Orpheus’s head has been found at Lesbos, and it’s been buried there.’

    Lesbos? This set me thinking... Artemis? Mr. Piggy Eyes regarded me hopefully. Too bad.

    ‘You wouldn’t have known the head would be found,’ I said softly. ‘Your jealousy of Orpheus has never left you, has it? You promised him to the dryads.’

    ‘No, no,’ he babbled. ‘I haven’t left the island since the day the dryads came here. Look round you, Goddess, not a tree in sight. They’ve all gone.’

    I did look round at the fields which were still waiting for spring to come. I was forced to admit he had proof of his innocence, but where should I seek next? I couldn’t help feeling the answer was near at hand, right here in the cornfields.

    Corn – now that reminded me of Persephone’s mother Demeter, goddess of fertility, with whom Persephone spent six months of the year (when she wasn’t gadding about with some man). For all her tramping the fields and chatting about fertility however, I notice Persephone hasn’t produced any little Hades yet. It suddenly occurred to me that she always chooses the same six months to be above ground as Adonis – not that little Mrs. Simper is any rival to me of course. Adonis only has eyes for my peerless body. All the same, I did notice a suspicious reference to corn when he was last up above. Had he been reaping in alien fields?

    And if he had, whom else might Persephone have slept with?

    Ah, now we were getting somewhere. Orpheus of course. Persephone had wanted to keep Adonis in the underworld safely with her and not with me, and Calliope had supported her. Suppose Persephone felt the same about Orpheus? After all, he’d charmed the whole of Hades with his lyre and no doubt sung them a few unjolly ballads as well. Perhaps she had had a few words with the Maenads? It was time I had a word with that young lady.

    There was only one problem.

    It was the wrong time of the year for Persephone to be cavorting around the cornfields. And that meant I, goddess of love and life and happiness, would have to apply for a Hades Day pass, pay that dirty old man Charon to take me across the river, and then charm that ghastly housedog Hades is so fond of. Cerberus does not have Welcome on the Hades mat, even if his three heads do reserve their most slobbering attention for the return journey.

    There was no difficulty about the pass. Father signed it immediately on one condition. No bringing back Orpheus to earth. He belonged with Eurydice. What Father wanted was proof of his killer. Considering the threat to his love life if King Hades fancied me and decided to keep me down under, this was a brave move, or perhaps Dionysus was really piling the pressure on? Father likes to nip down to the Bacchanalia every so often and taste the latest vintage (both in grapes and women).

    The kingdom of Hades is not a welcoming place. Its entrance lies through some nasty chasms, and the rocks hurt my feet, and so I decided to materialise by the River Styx. I was wearing a thick peplos over my chiton, the thickest I could persuade the Graces to make, since I had no intention of allow Charon more proximity to my body than absolutely necessary. Nor did I propose to allow him access to my mouth, the traditional place for the obol, the fare across the river. I, after all, was not dead.

    ‘Goddess,’ his rheumy eyes glittered eagerly as he rowed up, ‘jolly nice to see you. It isn’t often an old man like me gets to meet a pretty goddess like you. You come and sit by me now - ’

    ‘I’ve a better idea,’ I said coldly. ‘I’ll sit facing you. And get on with your job or Zeus will feed you to Cerberus.’

    Zeus still outranks King Hades so Charon shut up, although he muttered about my having to swim on the way back – if there was one. Ah well. I could always lend him my cestus, though even that wouldn’t be powerful enough for any chicks to be persuading into chumming up with Charon.

    Cerberus, horrible hound, licked his chops when he saw me, and I decided to provide a few pomegranates to chuck at him on the way back. At last I was in the underworld, which I hadn’t visited since Adonis was a few days late in his arrival back on earth. It hadn’t changed. The same huge caverns full of villainous-looking stalactites ready to drop on one at the merest word from King Hades. Awaiting me inside the reception cave were the three judges, eager to inspect my pass. Minos, Aeachus and Rhadamanthus are in charge of deciding who goes where, the Elysian fields for the favoured few, Tartarus for those who upset the gods, and the halfway house where most mortals linger, The Plain of Asphodel.

    I made it quite clear to them that I had a valid visa, and that I was heading straight for the royal palace to speak to higher authority. I was ushered to the Hell signpost, debated whether to have a quick detour to see if Orpheus had reached Eurydice yet, decided against it, and made my way to the throne room.

    When I finally reached the dark room King Hades finds so homely, he was having lunch – quite a decent spread, I noticed enviously.

    ‘Hail Hades,’ I began. ‘Dearest uncle – ’ He is father’s brother.

    The face turned to me. He is, I grant you, handsome but not, shall I say, the sort you’d want to tangle with. If he weren’t my uncle it struck me that it might be fun to try to bring a sparkle to those mournful eyes – after all, it can’t be fun to have piteous Persephone weeping all over you every night.

    ‘Your mission, Aphrodite.’ He is quite well disposed to me because I’d been helpful to him when he first grabbed Persephone away from earth to mate with him down there. That could be why she’s never liked me.

    ‘A word, if I might, with your dear queen,’ I requested.

    He stared at me. ‘You won’t take her away early, will you? She’s not due to go until the first day of spring.’

    I assured him I most certainly would not do so.

    ‘I’ll summon her then. Take a throne while you wait and we’ll be back.’

    ‘Might I speak to her in private, uncle?’

    ‘What about?’ He looked very suspicious.

    ‘Things that women talk about.’

    He lightened up immediately. ‘I’d like a baby. Could you have a word with her? For a goddess of fertility, that mother of hers brought her up in a strange way. You get Persephone pregnant with a little devil and I’ll reward you.’

    ‘By telling me who killed Orpheus?’

    He looked aghast. ‘He’s a Hades citizen now. That would cause problems. I suppose I could let you take him back with you.’

    ‘I can’t. Zeus hasn’t sanctioned it. Political, you see. He just wants proof of who really killed him so that Dionysus’ name is cleared.’

    ‘Oh, I do see your problem, Aphrodite.’

    After this rapport, I was surprisingly still allowed to see Persephone alone. She always looks a wimp with that long straggly corn-coloured hair she’s so proud of. Men always want to protect her, but I was beginning to think she might know exactly what she was doing.

    ‘Great goddess,’ she gushed. ‘I’m so honoured. Such happiness you have brought me.’

    ‘With Hades, Adonis or Orpheus?’ I enquired.

    She looked shocked. ‘With darling Hades, of course. That business with Adonis is all over now. Mummy taught me to see how naughty I’d been.’

    ‘So you’d like to stay in hell all the year round. Suits me.’

    ‘Oh no,’ Persephone said hastily. ‘Mummy would miss me so much.’

    ‘Only Mummy? If I were to get permission from Zeus to take Orpheus back, how do we know you won’t be after him, auntie darling.’

    Shock again. ‘He’s a married man.’

    My eyes narrowed, only briefly since they look their best when fully open and fluttering. ‘I take it he’s tucked up in the Elysian fields with his wife, then?’

    She hesitated. ‘Poor Orpheus. He was so looking forward to joining Eurydice there, and then on a majority verdict those horrid judges said he wasn’t worthy of Elysian fields because he had joined Dionysus’s gang.’

    ‘So where is he now?’ I demanded.

    ‘He’s sort of ... well... wandering around, waiting for a passport to paradise.’

    ‘And you consider that’s you, no doubt. Just as you planned. Adonis didn’t fancy you any more, so you found yourself another lover up aloft. What happened? Did Hades guess there was more than Mummy attracting you outside, did he threaten to pull the plug on your six month orgies? Is that why you arranged for Orpheus to be killed to join you down here? Or, more likely’ – my tears fell, since I am goddess of love – ‘Orpheus spurned your love, preferring to be faithful to Eurydice even after her death. So you had him killed, but bribed the judges to keep him apart from his wife.’ Oh I had been remiss in my duty. Why hadn’t I noticed all this going on? Contrary to belief, we gods are not all powerful, or all seeing. We merely do our best.

    Persephone looked terrified. ‘No, no,’ she whimpered. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. I loved Orpheus. I wanted him. But I didn’t get him killed. Mummy would have been cross. She loved his music so much.’

    I was taken aback. I saw she really was a simpering ninny. She couldn’t have had any power over the Maenads. It had to have been Dionysus after all. He must have been extra drunk at the time he ordered Orpheus’s death, lost his head and went overboard.

    Lost his head! That finally convinced me of Persephone’s innocence. She could not have assumed that Orpheus’s head would be found by chance and buried. And without it, she couldn’t have had Orpheus down here all to herself – nor indeed on earth.

    For a moment, I, laughter-loving Aphrodite, was scared witless. How could I go back to Father and tell him Dionysus was guilty after all? I thought fast and furiously.

    In whose interests would it be that Orpheus disappeared from both earth and Hades. There was only one candidate. With heavy heart, I patted Persephone gently, resisting the urge to pull her hair out by the roots.

    ‘There, there,’ I cooed. ‘I believe you.’ I might need allies, I reasoned. No need to alienate the girl.

    Then summoning all my strength, I walked back into the throne room. There was Uncle Hades, pretending he hadn’t been listening at the door.

    ‘It was you who ordered the Maenads to kill Orpheus, wasn’t it?’ My voice was trembly. I was treading new ground here. By accusing Zeus’s brother of murder I could well find myself locked up in Tartarus for ever, pass or no pass. The manager of Tartarus does a fine line in torture, chiefly based on expectation being disappointed at the critical moment – a fine thing for a goddess of love.

    Duty called. Encouraged by his silence, I continued: ‘You knew Persephone was disporting herself with Orpheus and wanted to bring him here, just as she had Adonis. It was her, not you, who insisted on that condition about not looking back the first time he dropped in here seeking Eurydice. Persephone had fallen for him and if by any chance – he did look back that would settle Eurydice’s hash. Once out, you wanted him to stay out, but then you had the problem of your wife’s six-month holiday on earth. So with spring approaching, this time you weren’t having any nonsense. You’d have him killed and you ordered the Maenads that nothing of his body should be buried on earth. So they threw the head in the river, but by mistake Orpheus landed up in your kingdom after all.’

    Hades thought for a moment and actually smiled. ‘What a clever girl you are, Aphrodite. You’re quite right. And I do see the error of my ways. So I think I’ll just let you take him back with you.’

    ‘I can’t. I told you that.’

    ‘What a shame. But without him with you, you’ve no evidence of who killed him, have you? Only Orpheus could convince Zeus of my involvement. I doubt if Mighty Zeus would take kindly to your disobedience though. So I am sure it’s the right course for Orpheus to accompany you back, so that my sins are cleansed.’

    ‘Oh yes, do take him with you, Aphrodite.’ Persephone had crept back and was listening eagerly.

    I was numb. I was caught both ways. If I took Orpheus, Zeus would demote me to chief Olympus housemaid for usurping his powers over life and death. If I didn’t, then I’d leave him saddled with Dionysus as the killer – or me! Either way, I was ambrosia toast. I had been outwitted.

    ‘Take him, take him,’ they were both urging me for different reasons.

    Love is stronger than the grave, I thought feverishly to myself. There must be some way to get round this. I bowed my head in defeat.

    ‘I’ll take him.’ Surely I could get round Zeus some way.

    Persephone was thrilled to bits, but Hades was not amused. I half expected him to go back on his word, and he eyed me carefully, obviously thinking I was bluffing. But I had made up my mind. I set out towards the Styx, and pretty soon I heard Orpheus twanging away behind me. You’d think he would play something joyful at the thought of going back to life, but not a bit of it. He was yowling ‘what is life or death on the Plain of Asphodel to me without thee’ all the way back to the Styx, interspersed with the occasional oath – Orpheus must have picked up that habit from the Maenads – when because of the darkness he hit a wrong note on the lyre.

    When we reached that dreadful dog and the edge of the river, the enormity of what I was doing and the outlook for my future were distinctly depressing. Then suddenly I saw the light – both across the river and for my dilemma. Cloudback would work here in the semi-light, even if the screen would be rather shadowy! Modern technology is wonderful.

    ‘Orpheus,’ I shouted, ‘who killed you?’

    ‘Hades - ’

    I cut him off sharply before he added, ‘how should I know?’ Father, here I come, I exulted. I saw it all. I had only to show Father the Cloudback machine and hey presto: Orpheus would be reunited with Eurydice, and Father would have his evidence. How?

    Dear reader, I looked behind me.

* "Who Killed Orpheus" © 2005, Amy Myers. Reproduced on The Sibyl & Sleuth  and the Historical Mystery Stories Online websites by permission of the author. For personal enjoyment; please do not reproduce or redistribute without express permission.

Amy Myers writes crime novels and short stories, including other Aphrodite Mysteries, which can be found in her short story collection, Murder, 'Orrible Murder, published by Crippen & Landru. Under the pen name Harriet Hudson, she writes sagas, mysteries, and historical novels. More information on the author and her creations can be found at AmyMyers.net.

                                                             
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