Meanwhile, up on Mt. Olympus, Hera watched in horror as the Greeks were beaten back to their ships. She knew Zeus had forbidden them to meddle in the war before Troy, but she felt she had to do something, anything, to help the men.
And then she had an idea.
Hera went to her room and closed the doors behind her. She washed herself with ambrosia and rubbed olive oil into her skin. She combed her luxurious hair, and clothed herself in wondrous robes woven by Athena, fastening them with a golden brooch. In her ears were silver earring, and on her head a golden headdress. She was a magnificent sight.
She then went to Aphrodite.
"My dear, it pains me that human affairs have made us enemies. Let us put this behind us."
Aphrodite looked at her suspiciously.
"I want to ask you a favor," continued Hera. "There are two gods fighting in the west. They love each other but they have quarreled, and I would like to make things right. So lend me your powers of love and longing."
Aphrodite's eyes softened. She wasn't the brightest god on Mt. Olympus.
"Of course, Hera," she said. "How can I refuse a request like that?"
And she took from her breasts a band of cloth, filled with the heat of love, the rush of desire, magic that could make the sanest man go mad and she gave it to Hera.
"Thank you," Hera said, and kissed Aphrodite in gratitude.
Then Hera went to Sleep, the twin brother of Death, and she said to him, "Do me a favor and I will have my son, Hephaestos, make you a golden throne."
"What favor is that?" said Sleep. His voice was soft and soothing.
"Zeus will make love to me today. I want you to put him to sleep after we have finished."
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