The Time of Zeus Book 5: the Coup
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 11: To Put in Motion
“No plan of operations extends with any certainty beyond the first encounter with the main enemy forces.”
— Prussian Field Marshal Helmuth von Moltke the Elder, in his 1871 military essay Über Strategie (“On Strategy”), as cited in Moltkes Militärische Werke, Volume 2. Originally published by Ernst Siegfried Mittler und Sohn, Berlin, 1892. Public domain. This statement is widely paraphrased in modern military and strategic discourse as: “No plan survives first contact with the enemy.”
The Queen of Olympus did not like the smell of metal burning since the time of the Great War. She could not help but link the aroma with the thought of death, ichor, and screams. When a casted alloy was not in her control, she knew that terrible suffering would likely be afoot.
Thankfully, for the most part, when Hera sat in the quiet of her garden, with a goblet of ambrosia in hand, she was not expecting the scent of mastered ore. Her senses could enjoy her lilac blossoms without the complexities of what rightfully pressed upon her mind.
However, the moment that Athena arrived, the tang of her armor seemed to brush against Hera’s nose. There was no ceremony needed for the daughter of Zeus and Metis.
She was, without a word, a living statement that promised conflict to Hera even as Athena’s bronze gown fluttered in the breeze. Even without her protective coverings, Athena smelled of a cleaning rag, shining metal, and sweat from exertion.
The younger goddess had a sharp glint behind her storm-colored eyes, which might have matched Zeus’ gaze.
“You have decided to hand Apollo the throne, then,” Athena said without preamble.
In her hand was a scroll that Hera had secreted into the wise goddess’ temple.
Despite the informality, the daughter of Metis had a calm to her voice, but also the smallest edge of a threat like a spear wrapped in the finest silk. In that way, she was very much her mother’s daughter in diplomacy with her father’s temper lingering under the surface.
Hera acknowledged the words by moving her eyes,, but she did not turn her head. She sipped once more from her goblet to allow the accusation to breathe before answering. After all, patience was the elder goddess’ ally while an eager haste was the prerogative of youth.
“No. I have planted a seed that will feed his ambition,” Hera corrected gently. “I suspect that you are aware of the difference. After all, you dirtied your hands by offering a similar arrangement with Poseidon. Would you not agree?”
Athena stopped two paces away. While her posture was immaculate, she had a bashful look of shame from the rebuke on her face.
“How did you know?” Athena wondered. “I had meant to tell you.”
“I guessed,” Hera said with a mild shrug. “If I had to provide an incentive for Apollo, I assumed that you might have to do the same when speaking with Poseidon.”
“What if you had been wrong?” Athena asked back, curious as to the answer.
“Then I would have apologized,” Hera remarked with an inclination of her head.
That response was a blow that Athena was not ready for. She blinked in confusion before moving forward. Their endeavor was too great for Athena not to believe in Hera, but with chance after chance being taken, the goddess of wisdom was starting to wonder how safe or realistic the changes being made were
“Poseidon might be too large a gamble,” Athena analyzed. “With the addition of Apollo? Majesty, if we scatter too many seeds, we shall reap a thicket we cannot escape.”
Hera let out a slow sigh at the flowery language of her foster-daughter. The queen set the goblet down on a marble pedestal near her seat.
“You may very well be right, Daughter of Metis,” Hera murmured. “Nevertheless, you promised Poseidon a chance at the crown. Surely, my mistake might be seen as a similar necessity.”
Athena flexed her right hand before balling the appendage into a fist. To keep her frustrations at bay was no easy task, but she could scarcely deny the fact that Hera had a point.
“I made that offer as necessity demanded,” Athena started, heated. She paused before relenting in a sigh. “I suppose you did no differently. My problem is that neither Poseidon or Apollo are worthy to lead.”
Athena shook her head at the mistakes she and Hera were making and at the greed of the other gods around her before she pressed on.
“We are already playing a dangerous game, but if we are promising a throne to not one or two people, have we not lost? Giving out thrones like trinkets—”
“Enough,” Hera cut in like hardened bronze. “We cannot afford to doubt ourselves now. The path ahead is already in motion. There is no going back, Athena, and there is a simple truth at play here: We need them both.”
Athena folded her arms in annoyance. To deny truthful counsel was foolish, but to not recognize the mistakes made in the stages of planning was a greater mistake by the goddess’ estimation.
“This is not strategy, Hera,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s desperation.”
“Well then, it is an accurate summation of our circumstances,” Hera replied with a faint laugh.
When Athena did not return Hera’s lightheartedness, Hera turned to face the youth. Her cool but clouded violet eyes were kind for Athena. Perhaps it was because she did see Athena as her daughter, maybe it was because Hera saw her as a friend, or maybe it was the fact that the two of them were plunging in head first into a conflict that they both did not understand the outcome, so of course the queen would have compassion for the princess.
“Mount Olympus, Athena, has always been meant for those who rule,” Hera admonished. “Few do not see themselves as undeserving of praise, so almost everyone would believe that they deserve the throne. That’s our truth as Olympians. The more those like Poseidon and Apollo believe they have a chance, the more they will fight against the one who already sits there. We need that allyship in the battle to come.”
Athena tilted her head slightly in thought, weighing the words. Her mind rolled the thought around quickly because she did not want to dismiss her logic completely in favor of Hera’s evaluation.
“And what happens when Zeus is gone and all these claims must be honored?” Athena asked.
She would not be denied an answer. This was what logic did. It needed to know how these sorts of interactions would end. It was not emotional, nor was it callous. It simply was and would be, so this led to Athena needing to understand the outcome of their united decision.
“If I might think like Poseidon for a moment,” Hera said quietly. “We shall worry over that tide once it rises, child. For now, we must think of one more hand to see us through the storm.”
Athena frowned. “One more?”
She looked out at the garden with her queen. This was a consideration that Athena had weighed once before. Of course, they might need another ally, so she supplied a suggestion of pragmatism.
“What about Hephaestus?” she said finally. “He’s quiet, so we can trust that he would be circumspect. This would be a sound strategy, and if anyone can understand how my father’s actions can push people into their worst parts of themselves, he would.”
For a brief moment, Hera’s face softened in a way Athena had rarely seen. All the weight of Athena’s implication had been brought down on the daughter of Rhea like an anvil.
“No.” Hera shook her head slowly. “We might need his gifts, but we cannot implicate him.”
“Why not?” Athena wondered. She tilted her head in examination of Hera. She wondered if sentimentality was getting in the way of what they needed to do. “He is capable.”
“His capability was never in question,” Hera rebuked quickly. “I just ... After everything, if our attempt to remove Zeus were to fail ... He would share our punishment,” Hera remarked. She shook her head in defiance of that thought. “I would not allow that after failing him as a mother.”
The sentence had an unforeseen effect on the goddess of wisdom. Athena’s eyes narrowed slightly at Hera’s refusal.
“Because he’s your son, we could lose out on an essential asset in this endeavor?” Athena asked.
Her tone balanced between her righteous indignation and patience for Hera.
“I have taken so much from him already,” Hera answered simply. “Failing in this task would make it so that I have let him down beyond measure.”
Silence lingered between them like a third presence.
Athena studied Hera a long moment before asking with careful weight:
“Then who will fill in that position?”
Hera’s answer did not come immediately. It was clear to Athena that she was in thought. The queen did not touch her goblet, nor move uncomfortably in her seat. Rather, she looked beyond the wall her eyes fell on.
“Someone whose loyalty no longer lies with Zeus,” Hera said at last. “But powerful enough to assist us. Give me a little time. I think I know of one or two that might suffice for our intentions.”
Poseidon returned to his palace beneath the waves, excited. Athena was not so clever. She was barely a princess and only made important by Zeus showing favor on her. He was a king crowned twice over. As the second son of Cronos, birth entitled him to being a king, but also, as one of the three leaders of the gods during the Great War, he had earned the title of King of the Sea through violent victory.
Maybe Athena was trying to do the same with Zeus and the family. None of that really mattered to Poseidon. When he entered his underwater palace, he saw Amphitrite waiting for him. She was every bit the daughter of Tethys in that moment: poised in her height, cool as the tide at the end of a hot day, draped in silks the color of midnight water. Her hair, long and gleaming like strands of silver caught in brine, floated faintly around her in the endless ebb and pull of their realm.
All of that, maybe none of it, or pieces of it in combination had him
He crossed the floor in three strides, which was easy since the inside of his palace was not surrounded by water. He caught her about the waist with that practiced, easy strength of his, and lifted her from the ground like she weighed less than a handful of sand.
“You are in a mood,” Amphitrite remarked with a smile.
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