I spotted the movement from the surface, took a breath – not too deep and dove as always, taking care my head went down synchronously opposite to the lift of my fins above the surface….. Good style isn’t always a natural thing. I tucked the speargun under my chest, forcing both hands under my body, gently maintaining contact with the handle leaving the pointy half guiding my view.
Leveling off on the bottom, no longer 25 feet away I zeroed in on a cluster of rocks. Carefully I brought the length of the gun paddling gently so as to conserve lung oxygen. As I cruised around the highest of the rocks I caught a glimpse of the most beautiful hog snapper I had ever seen in all my years of spearfishing.
She saw me also and true to form sidled away. Not in haste, not unduly worried but moving away just the same, flaunting the curious mix of grace and power that only the truly big ones have. Almost took the shot but it really wasn’t there so I kicked just a tad more urgently trying not to transmit anxiety even so. She turned, almost a full half circle and looked at me. The gap was closing but her profile was too head-on. I’d have to pull the trigger when she turned.
She didn’t turn. Instead she dropped head down into a crevice between the rocks under her. I followed, committed now, unaware of anything else. As I peered into the gap marked by a cluster of maze coral her tail became visible in the gloom. She had stopped in the hole. I was forced to make adjustment to my body across the gap but the idea was to take the shot depending on her turn. I was into the waiting game. And I got to thinking. The way hunters think to pass the time.
Artemis early in her virginal years had taken to gifting the odd lunchtime to this young soldier. He was tall, good-looking, intelligent and sensitive to a fault to her many fancies. He was also fleet of foot, demonstrating exceptional talent many times in the races her father Zeus held every cropover. When the harvest festivals reigned.
Soldierboy though was bit of a show-off. Not that Artemis minded as his appearance more than made up for any imagined shortcoming she as Goddess of the Hunt would allow anyone to lay at his feet. Zeus of course was not at all pleased. He knew from his own misadventures that unions between gods and humans never worked out to anyone’s benefit. And Artemis seemed unaverse – poised even to deliver her virginity to this this … he struggled for words, wishing the people of Athens would hurry up and create a suitable sound for what he felt.
Soldier boy had won enough races to get a spot On the regal dias, marked for exclusivity with gaily coloured tablecloths and expensive brands of booze. Zeus and his ilk knew how to live and the boy was just finding it to his liking. Such proximity naturally afforded our boy a direct line of conversation with Zeus himself. About just how good a runner he was. Not shy and seeing opportunity to prove his greatness to the God of Gods, our boy moved on to mention his skill at dodging enemy arrows. Honed as it were when he was tasked with carrying diplomatic messages between warring parties. Note – Even in those days wars were decided well away from the scene of conflict.
And in the way these things escalate Soldierboy let loose of being so good he could – probably, even outrun a god’s arrow should ever come his way. Quickened by the challenge Zeus the crafty old (word withheld because they hadn’t created that one either) campaigner asked our boy if he wanted to run a test to prove the boast. Artemis’ charms forcing the outcome they settled on a target. To balance the stakes, the shooters
were given a handicap – distance.
There was only one rule for Soldierboy. Run a gauntlet of arrows, get to the target – a goatskin, and pull it down. The reward was anything he asked for. The gods present were only allowed to shoot one arrow and that only when our runner was far enoggh away to look like a child no taller than a goat on all fours. Artemis herself of course was not all that concerned. She knew her beau was fast and in any case all the deities present were well into their cups. And so it began.
Soldierboy reached the starting point, looked back at the gods looking like children and he took to running. He didn’t dally, nor did he trust to the barrier distance had provided. He leaped across rocks, ducked when they afforded cover, zigged where he could, zagged when he felt it provided good optics for the crowd. The taste of victory though not yet tangible was taking shape.
Our gods and guests on the dias in the meantime, given the way these things work, had positioned themselves in a line. Not an easy task as seniority and commonsense dictated the order in who would shoot first. Apollo, Athena, Hermes, Persephone, Hephaestus, Dionysus and Artemis though, stood back with the confidence that only gods can have so the rush for target practice soon dwindled to just the humans. And what a sight it was. The Chief Secretary was handed a golden bow by one of his assistants. Another assistant proffered a golden arrow edelicately
balanced on both hands. With due pomp and ceremony the Chief consulted with his team of advisors about the wind and the trajectory.
The Chief Sec’s shot when it came was without fanfare. It later years the citizens would say it was a ‘buss’ but with his arrow spent the other senior civil servants stepped foward – chief administrator first, then the lesser bosses. All shot one at a time. All missed, nary an arrow even in the vicinity of where Soldierboy was passing. Zeus looked at his children and sighed. He expected no effort from Apollo, Athena, Hermes, Persephone, Hephaestus, Dionysus and he knew Artemis would not want to hurt her lover.
Zeus sighed. Muttered aloud a thought. To the effect that not even the goddess of the hunt could hit such an elusive target. Artemis looked up, intrigued. By now Soldierboy was just a small shape, closing in on the goatskin. Zigging and zagging with the impudence of the ever victorious. The goddess’s instinct took over, reacting to the technical challenge of hitting the moving mark regardless. She flicked her golden tresses over her shoulder, guaging the wind from the way the finest hairs fell. At the same time she nocked an arrow and pulled. All the way back. Waited for the smallest of a fraction of time, time that one day the citizens of Athens would name ‘second’. And Artemis let fly.
Only had the arrow left the bow did she cry out in anguish. She saw the bow drop from the corner of her eye. Saw the spent arrow in crystal clear focus as it arced to the high right of Soldierboy’s path. Saw the arrow as it dipped toward a place well in front of Soldierboy as he leaped through a small gully. Soldierboy himself was driven with the lust of victory. He was almost to the goatskin, could smell Artemis’s body – just reward for his skill and athleticism.
It was too far off for the mere mortal eye to say it was so. But the arrow hit Soldierboy directly in his chest, sped straight into his heart and the pain when it came was felt only by Artemis, such is the lot of the goddess of the hunt. Then the hogsnapper turned and I took the shot.