The Wooing of Peitho
Peitho, goddess of love, was always a grand and tempestuous beauty, with fiery hair and a heart full of passion. She enchanted all she met, and when the very day arrived that she came of age, two suitors approached her, seeking her hand in marriage.
One of these suitors was Barasios, the god of contracts, and the other Lucetius, god of sea and storm. Now, Barasios was a handsome, charming god, sophisticated and clever, with eyes like burning coals and a temper just as hot. Lucetius, on the other hand, was boisterous and brash, full of swagger, a rough and tumble sailor through and through.
Nicodemus, Peitho’s brother, disapproved of both of these suitors, and told his sister so. “Do not fret, brother dearest,” Peitho replied as she brushed her long red hair. “I shall marry for love, and naught else. We shall see what these gentlemen have to offer.”
The gods held a grand ball, and both suitors spent the evening dancing and speaking with the lovely Peitho. Barasios, of course, was suave, plying the goddess with wine and conversation. Lucetius was brash and bold as always, laughing too loudly at times, drinking to hide his nerves.
At the end of the ball, Peitho beckoned the suitors forward. “I have had a lovely time with both of you,” she said, smiling. “You each have your own merits, and I think that either of you would make a suitable husband. But, I must ask one last thing before I make my choice. What would you give to me, if I were your wife?”
Barasios spoke first, calm and smooth as always. “My lady, were I to win your hand in marriage, there is nothing I would not give to you. The finest palace for you to live in, servants to cater to your every whim. You would dine on gold and sleep in silk and feathers. Any jewel, any treasure, any entertainment would be yours whenever you wished it. I would treat you as the exquisite flower you are, my dear, and you would always know how valued you were.”
Peitho just smiled that same sweet smile. “And you?” she asked as she turned to Lucetius.
The sailor god paused for a moment. “I have no great treasures to offer, save those that I find on my travels,” he admitted. “I have no palaces, no servants. I am a simple sailor, a voyager across the seas, not a king of fire and paper and blood. I cannot offer you riches.”
“What do you offer, then?” she asked.
“I offer my hands, to fight for you, to shield you, to wipe away your tears. I offer my arms to hold you every night, to carry you when you are tired, to dance with you over the waves. I offer my voice, to sing to you, jaunty tunes and sweet lullabies both. I offer my eyes and ears that they may drink in your soft voice and fair face at every moment they are able. I offer a warm bed and hearty meals and the promise of adventures side by side. Above all else, however, I would offer you my heart, for it has been and will always be yours, whether you accept my suit or not.”
Her smile softened into something softer, fragile but infinitely beautiful in its delicacy. “Oh,” she whispered. “Yes. I would like that, I think.”
Barasios let out a hiss of fury as Peitho stepped into Lucetius’s arms, vowing that she would one day regret not choosing him instead, and stormed out of the ball in a blaze of fire and wrath. Peitho, however, could not feel the flames, for she was wrapped in the sea-blue eyes of her soon-to-be husband, and no wrath could destroy their happiness that day.
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