Aphrodite *through the dark Symplegades;* Aphrodite perched on her rock at Paphos, and looked out at the Cyprian sea. No wonder she always came here when one or another of the gods had irritated her. As the sun danced on the glimmering waves, she felt something akin to envy that anything could be so beautiful besides her. The Graces were preparing the water for her bath, and she was glad of it. Once her skin was oiled and she could slip into a new dress, she might feel less irritated. She ran her tongue lightly across the back of her teeth because it was the only way she knew to express rage without affecting the shape of her perfect mouth. But she could contain her fury no longer: why would anyone be so foolish – she screamed the word into the gentle breeze – as to neglect her? Why? She resented it when it was her husband, always leaving her to go and make . . . She paused briefly. Armour? Spear heads? Whatever he did. It scarcely mattered, because if he didn’t craft them, then someone else would.…