“Can you make her stop doing that?” Romula asked.  The nymph had not been still for more than three or four seconds at a time since the Goddesses had arrived. Here, then there – everywhere underfoot.  Romula rolled her eyes as the girl flitted up again.

“Do you want some water?” she asked for what seemed the seventeenth time, still holding a shell that formed a deep cup.  It splashed with her nervous movements.

Romula made no effort to conceal her irritation as she leaned to Artemis and said, “Just keep her away from me,” then turned, and trotted toward the stream.

Artemis had planned Aurora’s Bride’s Day for months.  Aurora often joined Artemis’ group to gather flowers and hunt.  Aurora even disguised herself as a mortal to dance in the procession during Artemis’ festival in Knossos – where she won honors in every contest.  They were close, and Artemis wasn’t about to let this nymph ruin her friend’s Day.

She turned on the girl.  The goddess was at least twice the size of the anxious pixie.  With one hand on either arm, She easily picked up the youth.  Holding her face to face, the Goddess said, “If you go near Her again, you will die – when I open your belly.”  Right there, in Artemis’ grip, Fear turned the nymph to stone.  “That should keep you out of trouble for a while.”  Smiling, Artemis set the statue down and skipped off after Romula.

Clio, the nymph, was the local deity of this small lake in Argos.  The lake was deep in a forest and fed by a shallow stream.  Artemis chose this location for the Bride’s Day because the streambed was made of the smoothest lapis lazuli – tiny, blue pebbles perfect for washing Aurora’s veil.  The two came upon a group wringing the red dye out onto the ground.  Lyres and tambourines were playing softly. They joined the game, each grabbing a corner to help straighten the garment. Laying the veil in the streambed, the goddesses danced across the blue pebbles churning the dye from the material. At last, They finished, hanging the garment in the limbs of the trees to dry.  Artemis and Romula headed for the lake where the Bride’s Day Games were being held.

Officially, the purpose of the Bride’s Day was to make preparations for the upcoming wedding ceremony.  Aurora’s gown and veil would be spun, garlands of flowers would be strung, food would be prepared.  

But, far more importantly, the Bride’s Day offered a young girl a last play date with her friends.  After marriage, the new wife would be responsible for an entire household – from managing labor to distributing supplies. There would be no more time for play. The girl would become a woman.  The Bride’s Day was a celebration that on her wedding day – a girl grew up.  

Artemis, who would never grow up, had planned Aurora’s Day with that in mind.  She would make certain her friend’s last memories of youth would be happy ones.  Aurora’s favorite game was the hunt, so Artemis set the day’s activities around that theme. The contests were in hunting skills – javelin throws, archery and, of course, foot races.  Later, when Hecate joined, there would be storytelling and dancing.  

       The warm spring day exploded in color and activity on the lakeshore. The nearby plateau offered a huge open area with more than enough room for the Games. The Goddesses reached the shore, just as a race was about to begin. They ran toward the starting line with the others who would compete.

“Wait! Wait!” Shouted Hebe. “Have you seen Clio?” Annoyed, Artemis and Romula stopped. Hebe explained she hadn’t seen Clio since the nymph went looking for more flowers. Hebe asked if they knew anything?

Laughing, Romula turned. She ran to join the race lining up. “She’s up there,” Artemis answered, with a giggle, pointing to the path up the hill.

“What did you do?” Hebe accused.

“I just asked her to be quiet,” Artemis answered. With that, she too joined the race, her long hair flowing behind her.

Hebe turned crying with a dramatic wail to the nearest goddess she could find. Aphrodite didn’t care much for hunting contests and was lounging nearby.  Between sobs, Hebe told the Love Goddess about Artemis’ answer.  Sniffling, she asked, “Do you think they killed my friend?”

“Don’t be silly, Sweetie. Let’s go find Clio.” Together, Aphrodite and Hebe walked up the hill to find the statue right where Artemis had left her.  Aphrodite’s warm touch was more than enough to enliven the nymph, but Hebe fumed the rest of the day.

Back on the shore, the goddesses lay gasping after the race.  Aurora had won.  Still, Romula and Artemis argued who between them was fastest.  “Run! Run as fast as you can.  You can’t catch me!” Romula taunted, bounding away.  As she ran, Romula lengthened her arms into forelegs.  Her face became pointed, as dark fur sprouted over her body.  She darted away, with speed of the gazelle she had become.  

“Let the hunt begin!” cried Artemis as she unquivered an arrow.

Romula taunted, “You hunt like a human,” then dipped out of sight just over the hill.  Artemis threw the bow aside, took a tigress form and followed her prey.

Within seconds, Artemis had crossed the mesa and rushed down the other side which turned out much steeper than she had anticipated.  She skidded as far as she could, then tumbled, headlong to the bottom, laughing all the way. 

As the world stopped spinning, Artemis looked around to see Romula, her hindleg trapped in the squishy mud, stumbling to regain her footing.  Realizing her prey was about to slip away, Artemis pounced, just as Romula kicked out a hoof.  Romula’s hoof struck Artemis square in the chest. The fatal blow, however,  did not have enough force to deflect the massive tiger who landed, dying, with a clawed embrace.  The two fell together, both animals mortally wounded. Both laughing, they regained their immortal forms and fell exhausted back into the cool grass – when a scream pierced the air.

Romula was the first to jump.  She followed the shouts and wails of a voice She could easily identify now.  Aurora!  Then, In the background – Hermes and Apollo. And on Her Bride’s Day!

Romula burst into the clearing and took in the scene immediately.  Hermes holding the young girl down. Apollo watching lustfully. In a fluid motion, she became the black panther. In a single leap she crossed the wide expanse.  She landed with a swipe of her massive paw across Hermes’ back.  “How dare you?” She growled.

Hermes fell headlong. Romula pounced, pinning him with her weight. Face to face with the panther, he looked around defiantly for his backup, Apollo. Hermes’ demeanor sank at the sight of his friend in, literally, a Bear hug from his sister. Dropping the panther visage, Romula lifted Hermes by one arm, and set the young god on her knee, preparing to spank. “Maia should have done this a long time ago, Boy.”

Humiliated, Hermes resolved to fight back. Determined, he struggled to stand, swinging fists violently. As the Immortal Combat began, Zeus’ voice thundered. “Enough!” 

Silence fell as Zeus continued, “Hermes, you know better. And, Romula, those gashes would kill a human. Don’t play so rough.” Zeus decreed, “Hermes, you do need a spanking. And Apollo, you’ll pay the tribute,” pointing to the lyre nearby. Characteristically pompous, Zeus’ voice rumbled away in the distance, “So let it be…”

After the spanking, the goddesses were all in great spirits. Each fell to the ministrations of whatever priest she had in attendance to help her prepare. This was THE social event of the year. Elaborate costumes were expected. Humans had spent months weaving garments that told tales depicting Aurora at her finest. Each priest brought a staff of celebrants. Among them were musicians, dancers, and storytellers, whose talents would serve at tonight’s feast. This Bride’s Day would go down in legends. 

In all, hundreds gathered to bathe the Goddesses in the river. Each then gently dried. Hair and skin massaged with fragrant, anointing oils. Finally, with silky linens padding costumes against the cooling night, small groups of goddesses started to make their way, toward the smells of roasting meats and heady wine. 

As the feast began, Artemis’ hand shimmered into a bear’s paw stroking the lyre given up by Apollo, leaving deep gouges as the Goddess intended. In the distance, Zeus’ Thunder rumbled a warning. Chagrined, she tossed the lyre at Mnemosyne, said, “Make sure you get my part of the story right,” and danced away to find Aurora and Romula.

Sometime before morning, the goddesses drifted off to sleep, while Memory finished writing the myth, leaving a lot of the story untold, for now.