Pandora and the box of fate Part 1

The box arrived during the night, between first starlight and moon’s end. No-one saw it come. No-one saw who brought it. Some say it was a gift from the Gods, some say it was a curse. But afterwards, everyone agreed that it was the night that changed the world forever.

 As the morning sky blushed pink and yellow, Pandora opened the shutters, glancing as she always did towards her beautiful rose garden. She saw the box instantly, although it was half hidden behind the largest, thorniest rosebush. It upset Pandora to find the box disturbing the perfection of her usual vista, and she called for her maid in her snappiest tones.

The maid, barely out of girlhood, hurried into the room, smoothing her apron nervously. It was never a good sign to be called by the mistress before the cockerel crowed. She wondered what error Pandora might have discovered now.

“Yes, Ma’am?” she murmured, eyes low. It was not permissible to gaze upon Pandora’s face before those sharp angles had been softened and adorned with the paints she favoured.

“Someone has deposited a box in my rose garden,” Pandora said.

“A box, Ma’am?”

Pandora sighed, withholding the urge to slap the girl for her stupidity. She had solemnly promised her father to be a powerful queen, yet had also vowed to be a gracious one. It was a daily struggle to balance these two elements, especially as everyone around her was either a fool or a villain. 

“Bring the box to me and make enquiries as to who put it there.”

The girl nodded, curtsied and hurried out.

Pandora pushed the burgundy velvet curtains aside and gazed down into her garden once more. The sun’s rays illuminated the metal fastenings on the box, and a sparkle of light sent Pandora’s heart racing with anticipation. This was no ordinary box left by a careless gardener, but one laced with jewels, fit for a queen. Her thin lips curled upwards as she wondered who her unknown admirer might be.

She watched as the maid bent down to pick the box up. It was obviously of some weight, as the girl had to set her slender feet wide to balance herself. The box tipped one way and another and Pandora almost shouted a warning, remembering her dignity just in time.

Thorns from the rose bush gripped the maid’s apron, and she pulled hopelessly, not daring to put the box down again. She could feel her mistress’ eyes burning into her.

A young man rushed over to help the girl, perhaps one of the stable hands, though his bright, neat waistcoat spoke of more wealth than that. Confident hands unleashed her from the thorns and then took hold of the box. After a brief conversation, he strode towards the door leading to the kitchens, the box held aloft.

Pandora stared down at his thatch of blonde hair and his wide frame and her stomach fluttered.

Hastily, Pandora moved to her dressing table. She gazed into the cracked mirror, broken in a fit of petulance when a young suitor had escaped her advances. She frowned now to see the shadows under her eyes and the lines creasing her once-smooth cheeks. The fates and the years had not been kind to her.

She applied kohl to her lower eyelashes and a concoction of crushed ash and berries to her eyelids, satisfied with the way this made her small grey eyes seem to enlarge and glow with power. She pinched her cheeks, adding a little peach to the paleness. She piled her dark hair upwards, imagining the young man’s hands running through the curls.

Laughing ruefully, Pandora let her hair tumble down again. It was beneath her dignity to daydream about a stable boy, if that is what he was, however handsome. Perhaps the elders were correct. It was high time she was married, but who in this kingdom could match her in wealth and status? A tiny voice in her mind whispered that she was beyond the age to snare a man with desire.

Pandora rubbed rose petal paste into her lips and only then called permission to enter, although she had heard the soft knock several moments before. The maid came in, rosy cheeked and bight-eyed with excitement, the box gripped in her hands. She looked impossibly fresh and young and Pandora felt a burning desire to throw her out of the lead-lined window.

“What took you so long? Stop your dawdling and put the box on the table,” she snapped, gesturing. “Carefully, girl!”

The maid placed the box down and stood back, waiting to be dismissed.

“Have you found out who put it in the garden?” Pandora asked.

“Yes, Ma’am, well No, Ma’am. Except that Epimetheus told me…”

So he had a name, the youth with the golden hair. Greek by the sounds of that, despite the blonde hair. The only Greek she had encountered before was Prometheus, dark as the ravens now pecking out his eyes, another who had dared to scorn her advances.

“Epimetheus? Who is that?” Pandora said.

“He is a visitor to our land, Ma’am, newly arrived.”

“Our land?” Pandora’s eyes blazed.

“Your land, ma’am. Begging your pardon.” The maid clutched her hands together, almost in prayer. “Epimetheus has come from afar, Ma’am, or so he said. He told me that he met another stranger during the night, who he believes must have left this box behind.”

“Believes?” Pandora picked at the word, as a hungry bird stabs at a worm. “Not knows?”

“Yes Ma’am, no Ma’am.” The maid bit her lip. “It is all a mystery, Ma’am, but it does seem clear that the box is for you.”

Pandora rose, drawn to the box as if it held a prophecy, only for her eyes. She looked down, awestruck at the tumbling array of rubies, diamonds and lapis lazuli layered into a gold framework. The copper hinges shone bright as a new kettle against a leather background and tiny gorgons laid jauntily across the top, their faces gaping and grinning, laughing eyes dotted with emeralds. It was extravagant, hideous and incredible all at the same time.

Desire flamed through her and Pandora laid greedy hands on it, desperate to reveal the contents. Reaching for the huge padlock, Pandora rattled the silver chain blocking her way. The keyhole, large and inviting, lay empty.

“Where is the key?”  she said, scowling at the maid.

“Begging your pardon Ma’am, but there was no key. There was only this piece of parchment left with it. Epimetheus said it must be a message for you.” She blushed while saying his name, keeping her eyes low as she passed Pandora the parchment.

Pandora looked down at the scrap, her eyes narrowing as she made out the impertinent words, ‘DARE NOT OPEN ME’. How dare someone leave this thing in her kingdom, her very own garden, and then order her not to touch it? How dare this Epimetheus discuss the message with her maid?

“Tell this Epimetheus I wish to see him immediately,” she ordered. “I will be in the Great Hall presently and expect to see him there.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the maid said, curtseying.

Aurora, for that was the name gifted to her by her banished mother, sighed. It was just as Epimetheus had predicted, she thought, fervently wishing that she was rich and powerful and could order young men to meet her in the Great Hall at her will. The reality was far less agreeable; she was simply the old King’s bye-blow with a village girl twenty years before, destined to serve her impetuous and impatient half-sister for the rest of her life.

Aurora told Epimetheus the news, blushing as he gripped her hands in his. His skin was warm, inviting her to hold on tightly.

“The queen really wants to meet me?” he repeated eagerly, staring down at her with wide azure eyes. “Well, there’s a stroke of luck then.” He laughed, revealing a set of perfect teeth. “It shows she has some good taste.”

Aurora wondered what land created such giants as this, all golden, large and full of mirth and arrogance. The men in her country were no such beings, all dark-haired, slouching, crouching creatures. She turned to leave him, her heart and smile too stretched and sore for company.

“Hey,” Epimetheus said, his tone suddenly tender. “Don’t be sad, my little rose. I’ll not forget you helped me to my fortune.”

His arms slipping around her as she wept were comforting and certain. Aurora leant against him, trying not to notice that he seemed very practiced in the art of embracing innocent young women.