The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan Page A

yelled.
    “What? What?” His eyes fluttered open. “We were talking about pillows, right? No, gods. I remember. Greek and Roman. Sure, could be important.”
    “But they’re the same gods,” Annabeth said. “Just different names.”
    “Not exactly,” Clovis said.
    Jason sat forward, now very much awake. “What do you mean, not exactly?”
    “Well …” Clovis yawned. “Some gods are only Roman. Like Janus, or Pompona. But even the major Greek gods—it’s not just their names that changed when they moved to Rome. Their appearances changed. Their attributes changed. They even had slightly different personalities.”
    “But …” Annabeth faltered. “Okay, so maybe people saw them differently through the centuries. That doesn’t change who they are.”
    “Sure it does.” Clovis began to nod off, and Jason snapped his fingers under his nose.
    “Coming, Mother!” he yelped. “I mean … Yeah, I’m awake. So, um, personalities. The gods change to reflect their host cultures. You know that, Annabeth. I mean, these days, Zeus likes tailored suits, reality television, and that Chinese food place on East Twenty-eighth Street, right? It was the same in Roman times, and the gods were Roman almost as long as they were Greek. It was a big empire, lasted for centuries. So of course their Roman aspects are still a big part of their character.”
    “Makes sense,” Jason said.
    Annabeth shook her head, mystified. “But how do you know all this, Clovis?”
    “Oh, I spend a lot of time dreaming. I see the gods there all the time—always shifting forms. Dreams are fluid, you know. You can be in different places at once, always changing identities. It’s a lot like being a god, actually. Like recently, I dreamed I was watching a Michael Jackson concert, and then I was onstage with Michael Jackson, and we were singing this duet, and I could not remember the words for ‘The Girl Is Mine.’ Oh, man, it was so embarrassing, I—”
    “Clovis,” Annabeth interrupted. “Back to Rome?”
    “Right, Rome,” Clovis said. “So we call the gods by their Greek names because that’s their original form. But saying their Roman aspects are exactly the same—that’s not true. In Rome, they became more warlike. They didn’t mingle with mortals as much. They were harsher, more powerful—the gods of an empire.”
    “Like the dark side of the gods?” Annabeth asked.
    “Not exactly,” Clovis said. “They stood for discipline, honor, strength—”
    “Good things, then,” Jason said. For some reason, he felt the need to speak up for the Roman gods, though wasn’t sure why it mattered to him. “I mean, discipline is important, right? That’s what made Rome last so long.”
    Clovis gave him a curious look. “That’s true. But the Roman gods weren’t very friendly. For instance, my dad, Hypnos … he didn’t do much except sleep in Greek times. In Roman times, they called him Somnus. He liked killing people who didn’t stay alert at their jobs. If they nodded offat the wrong time, boom— they never woke up. He killed the helmsman of Aeneas when they were sailing from Troy.”
    “Nice guy,” Annabeth said. “But I still don’t understand what it has to do with Jason.”
    “Neither do I,” Clovis said. “But if Hera took your memory, only she can give it back. And if I had to meet the queen of the gods, I’d hope she was more in a Hera mood than a Juno mood. Can I go back to sleep now?”
    Annabeth stared at the branch above the fire, dripping Lethe water into the cups. She looked so worried, Jason wondered if she was considering a drink to forget her troubles. Then she stood and tossed Clovis his pillow. “Thanks, Clovis. We’ll see you at dinner.”
    “Can I get room service?” Clovis yawned and stumbled to his bunk. “I feel like … zzzz …” He collapsed with his butt in the air and his face buried in pillow.
    “Won’t he suffocate?” Jason asked.
    “He’ll be fine,” Annabeth said. “But