Bull God

by Roberta Gellis

  Her lips thinned and although she tried to control her expression, she knew her eyes were bright with anger. “Who likes to know they've been dupes and fools, that they've been worshiping false gods? If you aren't gods, why should we bring sacrifices, why should we praise and pray?”

  Dionysus raised his brows. “Why do the people of Crete bring your father tithes and taxes? Because he protects them from others, because he sometimes grants them what they petition for, because he is more powerful than they and would punish them if they didn't obey his laws. That's why you pray and sacrifice to the 'gods' of Olympus. I said we weren't gods. I didn't say we weren't different from the native people in this part of the world.”

  “Then you are gods.”

  Dionysus shivered slightly. “Many Olympians claim it. Perhaps by now they even believe it. But it isn't true. Our power comes from elsewhere—that's why it can be exhausted, as I was exhausted yesterday. I can feel that power come into me and leave me, and I believe the power comes from the Mother. Eros, who is one of the oldest among us, who remembers our coming into this land, prays to the Mother.”

  “The Mother is a true god?” Ariadne whispered.

  “So I believe. Her power is inexhaustible. She needs no sacrifices to eat or drink, no offerings to furnish Her house. You can't see Her or touch Her; She can't be hurt, but She is there. And She can be felt here in Knossos, in Olympus, and in the East from where I come, all at the same time. She is never mean or petty, jealous of another's strength, and She knows, as we do not—everything.”

  “I believe that also,” Ariadne said with a sigh. “That is how a god should be.”

  “Yes. And we Olympians aren't. Our faults stick out like black warts on a white face. Zeus the lecher, Aphrodite the whore, Apollo the unreasonable, Artemis the vicious, Athena who might as well be one of her statues for all she allows herself to feel, Poseidon the totally irresponsible, and last, but not least, Dionysus the mad. Oh, there are others who are nearly gods. Hades is kind and just; Persephone is ... Persephone, a wellspring of power upon which others can feed—almost Motherlike. But they, too, are tainted with humanity because they love each other with the same foolish, unreasonable passion as any native.”

  Ariadne put a hand on his. “You are not mad, Dionysus. You are young and haven't yet learned to master your own will.” Like Asterion, she thought, but she didn't say that. It wouldn't be safe to mention her half brother and less safe still to compare Dionysus to him. “I understand what you're trying to tell me,” she continued, “but it makes me more afraid. I can't come to Olympus. To abase myself before a god—that I can do. I feel no shame to kneel before the Mother, to appeal to Her with lifted arms, but to do so to white faces with black warts ... No, I couldn't. I would anger them, Dionysus. You say they are petty and mean and yet terribly powerful. They'll destroy me.”

  His lips drew back slowly, a show of teeth that was utterly vicious. “No. You need fear no Olympian. They know that if they anger me I can pull down their whole private world. I can make them all run mad and turn their power against each other. No. They'll do you no harm.”

  Ariadne gasped with horror, her hand tightening convulsively on his. “No. No. You mustn't. Not ever. Not for me. Not even for you. You can't destroy a whole people. You couldn't live with the memory.”

  His face had twisted in remembered pain. He had nearly done just that to Pentheus' people. The breath that he had drawn in eased out in a long sigh. He raised his free hand and stroked her cheek.

  “Don't you see why I need you, Chosen?”

  “Yes, I see. But if I should come to grief in Olympus, through my own weakness or stupidity, matters would be even worse. Can we find no other way except that I live in Olympus?”

  He frowned. “Perhaps, but why shouldn't I have you always beside me?” The words, spoken in a kind of petulant resentment, reminded him of the woman who, out of love, had almost killed Eros. He bit his lip and got to his feet. “I must go. I'd almost forgot that Eros is very ill. I must find out if he's healing and whether Aphrodite has kept her word about not harming Psyche.”

  Ariadne had gotten to her feet too, still clutching his hand. “Will you return, my lord? I hope you aren't angry with me for being afraid to come with you.”

  He shrugged. “I cause you no awe and terror. I've told you no Olympian would dare harm you, so why should you fear them?”

  “The difference is that I love you, my lord. Even if you make me run mad I will love you. I fear what I don't know.”

  “Perhaps if you learn more about us, you'll be less afraid. I brought a scroll here—unless you discarded my things when I was absent for so long?”

  Ariadne laughed. “If I found a hair that you had shed, I would keep it carefully. The games and scrolls are all here in that chest.” She nodded toward it.

  “Very well. Among them you'll find one called The History of the Olympians. Read it. You'll see that the so-called gods are not very different from you and your people. They eat and drink, piss and shit, love and hate, can easily be managed by flattery and amusement, and can be just as silly as any native.”

  Except, Ariadne thought, that her people didn't throw thunderbolts when they were annoyed, or cause the sea to rise into mountains, or make sane men and women tear their families and friends into gobbets of raw flesh. But she didn't make that protest. She said, “But I won't understand everything. I know I won't. Won't you come back and answer my questions?”

  He smiled and touched her cheek again. “I'll come, little wheedler, but I doubt that I'll be able to answer your questions.” He shrugged, looking a bit shamefaced. “I've never read The History of the Olympians myself.”

  “But you are an Olympian. Don't you know the history?”

  He shook his head. “I'm the youngest to breed true from a mating of Olympian with native. You know I was born in the East and that to hide his infidelity from Hera, my father, Zeus, took my mother to the Underworld, leaving a shower of gold in her place. He left me in Ur with the Nymphai. I am not sure whether that was to protect me from Hera—who was terribly cruel to poor Heracles—or because he didn't want to be bothered with a babe. Anyway, I only came to Olympus when I was a man grown, long after these events.” He grinned at her. “If you'd come with me to Olympus, Eros could explain—” The grin disappeared and he freed his hand from hers. “You seduce me, Ariadne. When I'm with you I'm at peace and I forget everything else. I must go now!”

  On the word, he was gone. Ariadne sighed—a sigh of relief, this time. He'd return, he'd said so, so she hadn't lost him, and she had escaped, or delayed, being dragged away to Olympus. She shuddered at the thought and then wondered why, considering what he could do, what she'd more than once felt rising in him, she didn't fear Dionysus. But she knew why. He'd said it himself. She was his peace, his assurance that he wasn't mad, his hope that he could bring order to his life.

  Ariadne sank down again onto the cushion beside Dionysus' chair. Her heartflower had closed, as it always did when he was beyond the reach of the silver mist, but not into a tight, hard knot. Her Call could reach him anywhere, she knew. Would the silver tendrils some day stretch that far? If so, she wouldn't need to leave Knossos and live in Olympus to bring him peace.

  The thought was passing, but the “leave Knossos” echoed in her mind. Reconsidering the words, she suddenly began to wonder whether it was fear of the Olympians or fear of leaving Knossos ... no, not fear, the need not to leave Knossos. Ariadne blinked slowly, then got to her feet and walked into her bedchamber to stand before the shrine of the Mother.

  “You want me here,” she said, and the shadows shifted slightly on the dark face. “Why?”

  To that there was a response Ariadne at first didn't recognize and then perceived as a feeling of incompleteness, like a memory of a task left undone that wouldn't come clear. Although she didn't know what the task was, she was certain it must be accomplished before she could leave Knossos.

  “May I tell Dionysus?” sh
e asked—and felt a touch of warmth, and, more disconcerting, a kind of lightness, as if the Mother were amused, and then, almost as if she had been pushed, a need to look at The History of the Olympians.

  Fortunately the book was in the trade tongue, which Ariadne could read, and she soon found herself lost in the epic, which began with Kronos' attempt to unseat his father, Uranous, from his throne. It was not clear where the land was, except that it was landlocked and surrounded by mountains that made those in Greece look like molehills. Ariadne read the descriptions of the land carefully, but it was clearly not a place to which any Cretan trader had ventured.

  Kronos' rebellion was not without cause. Uranous, mistrusting those who might have a right to rule in his stead—for he was not loved by his subjects, who would be glad to replace him—had already buried one male child in the bowels of the earth and planned to be rid of all his children in the same horrible fashion

  Despite his people's hatred of their ruler, the rebellion did not succeed. Although some of the younger men and women with power supported Kronos, many others said he was too much like his father, only a devil they didn't yet know well. Those felt they preferred the devil with whom they already knew how to deal. Still others would support neither and the realm erupted into chaos. Kronos couldn't overcome his father, but Uranous was weakened sufficiently to allow Kronos and those who supported him to flee before Uranous could catch them and cause the earth to open up and swallow them.

  Had he followed, the writer of the history remarked, Uranous could have had an easy vengeance while Kronos and his people struggled through the mountains. There were enormous chasms that Uranous could have pulled shut over the refuges and cliffs he could have tumbled down atop them. Fortunately, the writer noted, Uranous must have been too busy trying to reestablish his authority over those who remained to pursue or too uncertain that he could defeat Kronos.

  Even without Uranous' interference, the passage through the mountains was far more exciting and marvelous a story than any tale Ariadne had heard chanted for the pleasure of the court. It could never have been accomplished by mortals. When Dionysus returned in the evening, Ariadne questioned him eagerly about the Gifts of the Olympians, which the writer took so much for granted that he never described in detail.

  “What does he mean when he says the rock was made brittle so that the strokes of the giants shattered them?”

  Dionysus wrinkled his brow while he sought through a platter of sliced lamb for a piece done just to his taste. “I was not alive then, but it seems to me that I have heard Eros say it was Kronos' Gift to suck heat from any source. If you draw all warmth from anything, it grows brittle. Then Koios, who was a Titan and tremendously strong, could strike it with his hammer. I suppose the rock then fell to dust and gravel and opened a passage.”

  “But a whole mountain?” Ariadne cried. “And then another and another? I know how many hills pile about each other in the spine of Crete. How long would it have taken them?”

  Having found the perfect slice, Dionysus folded it and stuffed it in his mouth. “If you do not eat, you will never grow,” he said to her. “And you once promised me you would grow up as fast as you could.”

  “And you promised me you'd explain what I didn't understand in this book,” she said, but she scooped up a stewed grape-leaf stuffed with savory chopped meat and vegetables.

  “But you ask what I can't answer,” Dionysus protested, laughing. “I wasn't born until Zeus had long been King-Mage in Kronos' stead. And Zeus was born in Olympus. Even he did not cross those mountains with Kronos. Koios would know.” He grinned at her wolfishly. “Gather up your courage and come with me to the Underworld. Koios is there. He's Hades' steward. He's horrible to look at because he was badly mutilated in the war between Kronos' people and the Titans, but he's a kind and gentle person and I'm sure he will gladly answer any questions you have.”

  Ariadne stared at him reproachfully. “Well, I suppose it doesn't matter how long it took. Several native lifetimes, I'm sure.”

  Dionysus nodded and popped another stewed grape leaf in her mouth before she could go on. “Perhaps telling you to read that book wasn't such a good idea,” he said.

  Mention of Koios' mutilations had reminded him that what Ariadne would read in the later parts of the History was not at all flattering to the Olympians. What might have seemed at first a heroic effort on Kronos' part to protect his siblings and a truly epic struggle through terrible hardships degenerated as the challenges were overcome. Dionysus had intended that Ariadne see the Olympians as they were, rather than wrapped in an aureate cloud of godship, but what they were was sometimes very ugly and he was not at all certain she would not be so disgusted she would want nothing more to do with him or Olympus.

  She made no protest but put the scroll away and began to tell him about an odd problem that was troubling the vines of a shrine near Mallia. He agreed to go with her to look at the vines and they finished their meal and leapt to the area. It was an insect—Dionysus showed her the small grubs that were pulling the leave all awry by wrapping themselves in silk. He knew no answer but for the farmers to pick them off.

  “I can make the vines strong and the grapes sweet,” he said with a shrug. “Bugs are no part of my Gift.”

  He was distracted enough, however, to forget that he'd intended to tell Ariadne to abandon The History of the Olympians, which had been her intention, so she was satisfied. She was far too fascinated by what she had read so far to abandon the tale, but at least Dionysus' discomfort had given her some warning. She was thus somewhat prepared for the descent from the heroic which the succeeding chapters disclosed.

  The first sour notes were played when Kronos and his tribe came out of the mountains that ringed their homeland into more inviting country. Although the land was clearly fit for taming, a good mixture of forested and well-watered meadows, Kronos insisted they continue. The lands were empty of inhabitants, and Kronos had no intention of becoming a farmer or herder to keep food on his table.

  Koios and the Titans felt differently. When they saw the specially fertile and well-protected valley of Olympus, they decided to go no farther. They were not afraid to swing their axes and hammers in a peaceful purpose, Koios said, and they would be content to found a city in that place. Kronos sneered a little at the notion of the noble Titans cutting trees and plowing the soil, but he made no real effort to force them to continue with him.

  He and his remaining supporters continued south until they found primitive folk along the shores of the sea. Having seen that those people could raise no defense against his tribe, Kronos turned north again and attacked Koios and his folk, who had welcomed them back.

  Ariadne shook her head over the treachery, but she was not nearly as horrified as Dionysus seemed to fear. Such acts were all too common among the nations with which her father had to deal. So, in a way Dionysus had gained his purpose. The History showed Kronos and his tribe to be not so different in their actions and desires from people Ariadne knew and understood. In another way their “humanness” made them more terrifying because their powers were so much greater.

  A combination of surprise and lavish use of his and his supporters' Gifts defeated the Titans. Most of the men were killed outright without mercy; a few, like Koios himself, were held hostage for the passivity and good behavior of the womenfolk—tortured if the women resisted the demands of their conquerors. When Koios and the others had been reduced to helpless hulks and looked unlikely to survive more mistreatment, they were cast out of Olympus. The women and children, now habituated to obedience, Kronos kept to prevent the pitiful remnants of the Titans from seeking a suicidal revenge.

  Kronos had married Rhea, Koios' sister, before they left their native land to bind the agreement between Mage-Lords and Titans. Leto, Koios' daughter, Kronos kept in his own household and put in the charge of his middle daughter, Hera.

  When Olympus was secure Kronos took with him Thaumos, who could inspire terror, Phorkys, who could indu
ce crippling cramps, and Phorkys' ferocious sons the Graiai. With them and a small troop of the unGifted, he winnowed through the helpless native people. He captured first hundreds, whom the Graiai drove over the mountains, and in raid after raid over the years, thousands. These, kept as slaves, tilled the soil in Olympus, which Demeter's Gift made bear triple and quadruple what normal fields produced, and built a city of surpassing beauty.

  Ariadne read dispassionately. It was common enough for a conquering people to use the conquered as slaves. Kronos did seem harsher and more wasteful of lives than most, and he was even cruel and treacherous within his own tribe, which Ariadne was sure would lead to trouble, but she found nothing truly shocking except Kronos' behavior toward his children.

  He ignored the females: Hestia, meek and seemingly only interested in the duties of householding, shielded the younger ones, and Kronos never heard of Hera's power as seer and manipulator of events. The eldest boy, Hades, was virtually imprisoned and totally isolated. Often, when other powerful mages came to deal with Kronos, Hades was actually kept in a dark cellar, apparently in an attempt to prevent any possibly dangerous dweller in Olympus from knowing that Kronos had an heir. Later, the history commented, it was said that Kronos had swallowed the boys. Ariadne shuddered. In a sense, that was true.

  Rhea did what she could for her son but it was little enough. She tried to comfort him and warn him, explaining Kronos' fear of a powerful son by telling Hades of Kronos' revolt against Uranous. She brought Hades light, made sure he was fed, taught him to read and write, brought him books to occupy his lonely hours. It was the books that exposed to Kronos the fact that Hades was Gifted. Having few other toys, Hades had always played with the rocks and stones of his cells. He found that he could heat them to warm himself and, even more fascinating, push his hands right through them. Thus, when Rhea warned Hades that Kronos intended a visit to the barren cells in which Hades lived, the boy became desperate to hide his books, his one pleasure, and having no other place, he willed the rock walls to open so he could hide the books within.