by George Moore
It was not long after the fall of Chronos that Poseidon, afraid of the presence of a War-God on Olympus, commanded his legions to assemble and lay siege against him. Zeus may build high walls, said the Sea-God, but I can build quicker with water than he with stone, quicker and higher. And very soon the Gods were collected about Zeus in great fear, their cries resounding: Allay the rising tide, Zeus, else we perish! I have sent messengers to Æolus to let loose a wind that will stay and then drive back the beleaguering tides, Zeus answered; and with the great wind that was to save him always in his mind, the God put down his hand into the dry snow of Olympus, and scattering a little of it into the air uttered a great moan, for the wind carried the snow always the same way and he foresaw the end of Olympus. And he would have foreseen it truly if Hephaestus, whilst escaping up rocks from his forge, had not caught sight of his wife and Ares in a cleft — a sight that drove him back to his anvil and his hammer, which he did not leave till he had forged a net and some chains. With the net he entangled Ares, and having with the chains made him secure he drove off Aphrodite, calling her whore, punk and strumpet. But Aphrodite’s need of Ares was so great that she recked little of the names that were hurled after her as she ran to the verge of the waters crying to Iris to come to her help. Nor had she long to wait before the beautiful Iris rose, saying: Thy bitter cries for help have reached my ears. What wouldst thou have of me?
I would have thee carry a message from me to Poseidon. The Gods are drowning, Iris answered, and Poseidon hath no heed of their fate. Nor have I heed of Olympus, Aphrodite replied, only of my lover, enclosed in a net of iron and manacled in a cleft of these rocks by the swarthy Hephaestus, my husband. For what reason should Hephaestus be so cruel? Iris asked, and Aphrodite answered: For no better reason than to close my mouth to the kissing of the gentle Ares. But thy message, fair Aphrodite? Speak it, for the waters are rising. I would ask Poseidon to come to my aid. Whereupon Iris rose to a great height, and then descending in a curve she pierced the ocean, reaching at last to the portals of Poseidon’s palace, which were opened to her by tritons, and she was conducted to the great hall where the Sea-God sat receiving tidings of his conquests.
Fortress after fortress hath fallen! he muttered, and then catching sight of Iris, he asked: Hast come with tidings of the engulfing of Olympus? Not so, she answered, but of the dropping of the wind that Æolus let loose. This is bad news indeed, said Poseidon, and I must hurry away to meet Æolus and tell him that according to our pact he must loose another wind. But before setting forth, sire, hear my message. Be brief then, the Sea-God answered. I come, said Iris, from Aphrodite. I remember her as a child, said Poseidon, and he remained thoughtful, his memory of Aphrodite diverting his mind from Æolus and his bag of winds. Why doth she send thee? he asked at last. What would she with me? That I should pardon her father, Zeus? — still defiant, I am told, hurling curses upon me from the heights of Olympus. Not so, sire; she is forgetful of her father, having thought only for Ares, whom the swarthy smith Hephaestus, her husband — An ugly fellow, truly! Poseidon interjected — hath chained in the cleft of a rock; and she would beg thy help, knowing well that none but thou canst help her in this great strait of danger and fatality. Aphrodite I remember well as a beautiful girl, said Poseidon. Her childish beauty hath passed into the diviner beauty of a woman, Iris answered, and with these words she whetted Poseidon’s appetite, who murmured with well-assumed indifference that it would be a pleasure to see Aphrodite again and release Ares, since she desired him. Then I will return with the good news, said Iris, and thou’lt find her waiting where the waters linger among the heights of Olympus. Tell her that she will not have to wait long for me! Poseidon cried, and forthright he ordered his golden chariot to be harnessed to the swiftest dolphins, and was carried by them over sea to where Athens now stands; and seeing everywhere the enlargement of his realm, he said: A happier day than this one I have never known. All things are bending to my will. The territories of Zeus have been given to me, and I am on my way to meet the beautiful Aphrodite.
As he spoke these words Aphrodite came to some secret knowledge of them, and hastening to unloose her hair still further, she contrived such gestures of woe as would appeal to the heart of her first lover; and putting an accent of mingled love and woe into her complaint, she turned to meet him, saying: So thou hast not forgotten me, Poseidon? Whosoever sets eyes on thee, Aphrodite, may never know forgetfulness of thee. Nor have I forgotten thee, Poseidon. Thy kisses were the first I knew, and first kisses are never forgotten, even among mortals, who forget all things else. The waters are rising, said Poseidon; tell me what is thy pleasure and thou shalt have it, for I am now near to being master of the world. But by no look or word did Aphrodite show that she had heard or understood this awful pronouncement. Her thoughts are elsewhere, the Sea-God muttered to himself, and aloud he said: Zeus broods upon his ruin on the highest peak. Poseidon, said Aphrodite, Hephaestus the smith, my husband, hath captured Ares and fastened him in a cleft among the rocks. If thou deniest thy help he is lost; but being master of the world, with thy trident thou canst break the chains and the net. Which I will do if thou’lt direct me, Poseidon answered. And having loosed Ares from the net and broken the fetters that bound him, he bade him hasten upwards to the heights, where he would find the Gods in their last refuge. But the waters are mounting! cried Ares. I promised Aphrodite to release thee, Poseidon answered; more than that I have not promised, and more than that I will not do. And in the hope of lengthening his span of immortality by a few hours, Ares made all haste to join his comrades on the top, leaving Poseidon to return to Aphrodite. And when he told her what he had accomplished, she thanked him, and kissed him for his good nature. But neither mortal nor immortal can receive Aphrodite’s kiss without being inflamed, and Poseidon said: We cannot part like this, Aphrodite. It recks me not if I possess the world and possess not thee; wherefore thou shalt come; and despite her protests and struggles he carried her to his chariot and away to his palace Ægæ beneath the sea, where he lived with her — for how long is not known, but two sons he had by her.
But, grandfather, why were the waters not withdrawn again and Euboea reunited to the mainland? Ah, Rhesos, there are things unknown to mortals, and that is one of them. Well, grandfather, if thou canst not tell me why that great rift was never closed by the power of Æolus or of Poseidon, thou canst tell me why I should forfeit the statue I have made of Aphrodite and begin one of the Sea-God, of whom I know nothing. Grandson, wait till thou hast heard the end of the story. And the old man continued: After the birth of her two sons Aphrodite wearied of Poseidon, who besought her to say why her face was no longer joyous with smiles and her voice with laughter; and she answered him: A great longing hath come upon me to see the world now sunk under the sea. A universe of water is mine, Poseidon replied; but the stars above me are not mine. Each power is controlled by a power higher than itself, and so even the Gods are not happy. And Poseidon mourned and was sorry he had destroyed the world.
Perhaps, said Aphrodite, thou mayst have left a green isle somewhere whither thou wilt take me, for I would see the sun again. Poseidon could give her no answer, but as he moved away, sorrowful, a triton came whispering to Aphrodite: The waters have subsided. Poseidon forgot the half-drowned world in his love of thee, and the pleasant groves, the flowering meads and the sunny shores of which I heard thee speak, await thee shouldst thou decide to return. But how shall I get back to the sunny shores of Thessaly? Aphrodite asked, to its flowering meads, to its woods, to the sunlight, moonlight and the stars? My heart is weary of glaucous caves, of trailing seaweed and cold-blooded fishes that know naught of Aphrodite. I would away, but how? On my back, replied the triton. The doors of the palace are open. Then let us away, she said, whilst Poseidon sleeps. And in a little while (for tritons swim well) they were on top of the waves in view of the sun, and great was Aphrodite’s joy when she saw the coast of Greece again.
The old man stopped speaking, and after waiting
for him to continue Rhesos said: But that cannot be the end of the story, grandfather? Have I not told, replied Otanes, of a great war between rival Gods, of the rape of Aphrodite and her return to reign over the kingdom of men, preferring men to dolphins and tritons and mermaidens and mermen, all scaly and fishy things? A very pleasant story thou heist told, grandfather, informed with a truth for all time, the Gods it would seem being at variance like ourselves and as anxious for homage as we are. True, too true! Otanes muttered. Not having ceased to mourn Aphrodite’s loss, Poseidon is often stupid with hatred and envy, and barely resists the temptation to send to Æolus begging for a west wind to overwhelm Greece. So, grandfather, thou wouldst have me accept the dreaming of a shepherd in days long gone by rather than the oracle of Amphiaraos? Otanes did not answer, and after waiting for the old man to recover his thoughts, and ignoring signs for silence from his mother, Rhesos said that the only way out of the difficulty they were in would be the building of two temples, one on the knoll and the other at the valley’s end, to which Kebren replied that he did not know where the money was to come from to build two temples; and he spoke of their losses till Rhesos interrupted him: Wouldst thou have me destroy my statue of Aphrodite in the hope of soothing the anger of Poseidon? Thy statue, Kebren answered, is still in the clay, and — And the clay can be turned into a statue of Poseidon — is that the project thou wouldst have me consider? Thrasillos will tell me, if he be in thy confidence. Thrasillos’s eyes reproached his brother, and Rhesos’s heart misgave him for a moment. Better that my statue should perish than Aulis — I entertain no such thought! Thrasillos cried. I thank thee, Thrasillos; but if I know thee at all, thou hast a more attentive ear for the droning of a shepherd than for an oracle. And more care for the safety of our town than thou, Rhesos, said Kebren; and when Rhesos asked his father what he might have learnt from grandfather’s story if he had not been intent on the saving of his statue, Kebren raised his hand, and in the silence thereby imposed a rumble reached them from afar. Zeus speaking in low tones, or distant grain carts? he asked. Another rumble, and they believed in grain carts, till the thunder crashed, and with a violence that set them all thinking that the ancient war between Zeus and Poseidon was about to begin again.
This time the voice of Zeus reached thine ears, grandfather! said Thrasillos. A mountain seems to have fallen, Otanes replied, and the thought that Zeus might have felled one to block the strait of Euboea against the waves that Poseidon would raise up against Aulis, encouraged them to believe in their safety. And if the peak that fell be not enough, which one will he choose for his purpose? Kebren asked, and Otanes answered: He will find the peak he needs among the Telethrion range, or over against Lithada. But Zeus’s providence will come to naught if Æolus opens his bladder of winds before Zeus hath time to loosen the roots of another mountain. Shall we hear the west wind when it begins? Biote asked. But, mother, it may not begin! cried Thrasillos. Hush, lest it should hear thee! And just as if Biote’s question had summoned the wind, it began far away. Approaching like a herd of wild oxen, said Kebren, and Biote clasped his hand. Like the phalanxes of the Persian army — so I have heard described the march of Xerxes’s troops, Otanes muttered in his beard, and everybody was more afraid of the old man’s speech than of the wind that was coming. It fell upon the house like a panther on an ox, but ox met panther and the wind retreated like a wild beast before a foe too formidable. I had that wind in mind, said Otanes, when I ordered the building of my house. Æolus is not easily beaten when he gives his promise, he continued, and if the strait be not blocked the wind will bring waves that will engulf Aulis. Grandfather, we beseech thee to cease prophesying! Thrasillos cried, and Rhesos murmured in his brother’s ear: It would seem that it irks grandfather that we should live after him! Again the thunder crashed, and Kebren said: It is hard to believe that a mountain hath not fallen. A small shower of rocks may block the northern strait and we shall be safe, for Poseidon cannot bring waves over the mountains of Euboea. The wildest night, replied Otanes, that hath been known for more than eighty years. About that time there was one that wrecked many ships in the harbour and many houses in Aulis, carrying cattle into the sea. Wolves and foxes swam in the streets, and corpses of men and women rose and sank, washed hither and thither — Father, cried Biote, wilt cease thy tales! But as if he had not heard her, Otanes began to tell how the oracle of Amphiaraos had prophesied that a child saved by a cradle from drowning, as he was, would live till... A knock at the door interrupted what the company felt to be an unnecessary tale.
The corner was Timotheus, with news that the wharves were under water and that the town soon would be if the great wave were succeeded by another and greater. Let us go hence to the hills, whither Poseidon cannot follow us, said Thrasillos. Ye are too late for the hills, Timotheus answered. And my slaves — where are they? Kebren asked. I bade them away to the hills, master, where I said they would fare better than we on a gusty roof. Truly in a wooded dell they will fare better than we, Timotheus; but why are we not with them? And Timotheus told how a great wave had nearly broken through the door leading into the laneway. I said: Now is your chance to reach the hills before the next wave comes, and they ran, men and women together. We shall lose a few, replied Kebren; even so, it were better to lose a few slaves than our own lives. We might be caught by the next wave and drowned about the smashed doorway. There is still the outer courtyard between us and the sea, said Thrasillos, and the door is strong — No doors are strong, sir, when the sea vomits out of its very depths such a wave as nearly caught the servitude. Let us to the roof.
Grandfather, awake! cried Rhesos, and on to my back or on to father’s. On to somebody’s back thou must go, and no great burden wilt thou be upon it. Otanes did not answer, and afeard lest they might be in the presence of the dead none spoke or moved till Kebren came to the old man’s chair, and laying his hand on his shoulder cried in his ear: Awake, Otanes, for we climb to the roof out of reach of the flood. And no answer coming from the dead man Kebren turned to his wife and sons and Timotheus, saying: — He is no longer within hearing of the winds of Æolus, the waters of Poseidon, or the thunder of Zeus. We must leave him — To be washed hither and thither by the waves! cried Biote. If the waves come into the hall they cannot hurt him, Kebren answered, and it will be hard to lift him to the roof. The night is a wild one and it will be gustier before we reach the roof with his corpse. We would do well to leave him. He is beyond hurt, he repeated. Beyond hurt he may be, said Timotheus, but I hear him, though he speaks not, and he asks that we should not leave him alone amid the waters. I would not lose him till the fire consumes him on the beach, leaving his ashes to be gathered into a vase. To remain on the roof will need all our strength, said Kebren. A gust may carry him over the parapet into the courtyard, or away into Aulis. Light enough he is for the wind to do that, Timotheus answered, and without a rope to bind ourselves to the chimney-stack we should be as unable as he to keep on the roof. And Kebren, shamed by the devotion of the servant to his dead master, murmured: Since it is thy wish, Timotheus, that he should be among us whether we live or perish, bend that I may lift him on to thy shoulders. Hast got him safe? By the ankles and wrists, Timotheus replied. Lead the way, master. After passing through the kitchen thou’lt find on the right a ladder. Go up it and open the trap-door for me — a thing I cannot do, burdened as I am with the master and the rope that will bind us all to the stack.... I doubt not the strength of the rope, but the chimney may not be able to withstand the gust that is gathering. Gathering far away, he cried to those that were still below, but loiter not.
Biote and then Rhesos and Thrasillos climbed, to be seized in turn by Timotheus and bound securely before the house quaked and the chimney rocked. Crouch! cried Timotheus, and afraid that the wind might lift them up and carry them over the parapet, they hardly dared to raise their heads to see what the lightning might show of ships’ masts and rigging in the strait. If the chimney-stack holds we are safe! cried Timotheus. Otanes put g
ood stone and mortar into the stack, else we were undone. Are my sons here? Biote cried through the briny rain. And thou, Kebren — art safe? And having gotten answers from all three, she cried: Art thou still with us, Timotheus? With you still, he replied, and the crooked lightning showing him with Otanes in his arms, their guess was that he waited for a lull in the wind so that he might enfold his dead master in a tarpaulin. As he did this Thrasillos began to talk to him, saying that if the wind did not cease, and quickly, the building of a pyre on the seashore would have to be abandoned for a grave. A sorrow this will be to us all, Timotheus replied, for from long past Aulis, and even Athens, hath looked upon a funeral pyre as a sacred duty. At that moment a great gust swept down more suddenly than the others, but they withstood it, and when it passed their talk was back on the pyre and on the difficulty of getting it to burn into flames big enough to reduce Otanes to ashes. Rhesos spoke of pitch and resinous pines till the rain came down again, soaking them, and they wondered if Timotheus would open the trap-door; but he was warned by Kebren not to do so lest the wind should get into the house and lift the roof, and themselves be buried in the wreckage. I had no thought for opening the door, Timotheus answered. On his words silence fell and they bore with the rain, which Timotheus said would cease with the dawn. Many times it slackened, but only to begin again, and hope deserting them, the cry of all was: Will the dawn never come? The dawn cannot be far off, said Kebren, yet the crests of Mount Telethrios and Dirphys are still wrapped in clouds which the rising sun fails to pierce. We have been many hours here, and it must be day on the eastern coast of Euboea. Yet we must have patience, he continued; railing against the wind and the rain will not move the elements; we are subject to them. And to encourage them he told that the night on the roof was better than the night he had suffered at the tiller off the Egyptian coast. As the ship split under me... A gust choked the words in his mouth, and they resigned themselves to silence and to watching for the black sky to turn to grey.
