“Hunger will stalk the land,” she cried. “No seed shall sprout, no furrow quicken. Barren shall be the fields, the orchards blasted and fruitless. And the cattle, unable to graze, shall starve, and the herdsmen and the plowmen, and their families also. For I, Demeter, Bestower of Crops, am angry, furiously angry, and my wrath is famine. Until high justice is done, until Zeus reverses his decision and declares in my favor, and bids the foul abductor return my daughter to her mother’s arms, then all the land shall share my grief.”
As the goddess was pronouncing these terrible words Charon and Menthe were threading their way toward her. Finally they could go no farther. The crowd was denser near the hill—a stiff, resistant hedge of crouched bodies. Charon saw that the green-clad one was beckoning to him and knew that he would have to go to her. To do so, though, he would have to brutally trample a path through the mob. His neck swelled with cruel energy—like that of a bull about to charge.
Menthe put her hand on his neck, and he felt a coolness wash through his hot, throbbing body. “Wait,” she murmured. She raised her arm.
A huge white goat appeared between them, and stood there like a pillar of white fire. Its horns were golden in the slant afternoon sun; its eyes were amber slits of light. Menthe floated onto the goat’s back and grasped its horns. Charon pulled himself up after her. The goat leaped. A gigantic leap. It soared over the crowd and landed on the hill—knelt to the goddess so that Menthe and Charon slid off and stood before her.
Charon was enveloped in her fragrance. She smelled like ploughed fields after a light rain. Her voice wrapped about him also; it was like the wind among trees.
“Thank you,” she said. “I have sent for you, and you have come.”
Charon heard himself speaking words he hadn’t thought of. “How may I serve you?”
“I need your help to save my daughter from her foul abductor.”
“He must be powerful as well as foul,” said Charon, “if someone like you needs help to reclaim her own.”
“He is Hades, Lord of the Underworld, my eldest brother, and brother to Zeus too, of course. You heard me pronounce his name to these poor starvelings, did you not?”
“I was too busy trying to get through the crowd to attend to what you were saying. But I understand now. Hades has taken your girl. I don’t know her name.”
“Persephone, the April Child, Maiden of the Changing Year. Just five days ago she was in the meadow with her paint box coloring the wildflowers, when the earth cracked and out charged a black chariot drawn by six black stallions. The charioteer was my accursed brother. He snatched her up from among her flowers, wrapped her in his cloak, drank her tears, and whipped the stallions back into the pit … down into his damned realm—into Tartarus itself. And there he keeps her, and defies me to take her back.”
“And you have sought justice from Zeus—is that what I heard you tell the multitude?”
“Aye, and you heard me say that justice was denied. Certainly I rushed up to Olympus, confronted Zeus in the Hall of Judgment. There he sat on his golden throne in his cloak patterned with stars, and listened silently as I poured out my tale. I expected him to react in rage and sorrow, fully expected that he would send messengers to Hades ordering him to release my daughter. But his face was as hard as that rock there. Not a glimmer of sympathy did he show. When I had finished my tale, he said simply that he would take the matter under advisement, and that he would let me know his decision later. Later! Later!” She pounded her chest. “That delicate flower of a child will wither away in dark Tartarus. She needs air, sunlight, birdsong. Not darkness and smoke and the screams of the tormented. I couldn’t believe how Zeus was acting, couldn’t accept what he was saying. Then I saw that he had a new scepter: a magnificent volt-blue zigzag thunderbolt. And I understood that he had been bribed. That Hades had his pit demons dig up the rarest of metals and fashion this thunderbolt as a gift to the judge. Yes, the king of heaven and earth has been bribed; he will do no justice. My daughter must languish down there unless I can summon strength to save her.”
“And how can I help you?” said Charon. “Your tale touches me, and I am prepared to make your enemies mine. But, although reasonably well grown, I am only a mortal, after all. What use can I be in a battle between gods?”
“You underestimate yourself,” said Demeter. “I have heard tales of you, and now that I see you I understand that the tales have not been exaggerated. You are mortal, true, but of heroic size and gigantic strength—which means that you have a spark of divinity in you. I don’t know your pedigree, but somewhere among your ancestors, I am sure, is a god or goddess who came down to earth long enough to love a mortal. Be that as it may, I have a specific use for you. I happen to know that you are the best and boldest ferryman in all the land. And I have learned that Hades is in dire need of a ferryman to transport the shades across the Styx. It is a treacherous, difficult job. All his ferrymen have been overcome by the sights they have seen and the sounds they have heard and have drowned themselves in the black river. You must go down there and apply for the post. There is no question but that you will be accepted. And then, having won Hades’ trust, you will be able to serve me.”
“And am I to be condemned to dwell forever in Tartarus, forever to cross and recross the Styx with boatload after boatload of miserable wailing shades? Is that not damnation before I am dead?”
“Damnation?” said Demeter, almost crooning, and laying her heavy hand upon his shoulder. Immediately he felt a strange new energy surging through him, a green, sappy strength seeming to flow from the very center of the earth, up through the soles of his feet and coursing through his huge body—a wild need to do what he had never done before, a marvelous carelessness of consequence. “Damned? Do you say damned?” crooned Demeter. “Why, in serving me so nobly you will earn my eternal gratitude. And the gratitude of all these poor wretches whom you will have saved from famine by returning the Spring Maiden to the earth. I shall pour blessings upon you. You shall live where you wish, do as you wish, enjoy enormous wealth and prestige and the endless thanks of all who will know what you have done.”
“How about what I want now?” he said. “How about her?” He grasped Menthe by the arm.
“She shall be your companion, of course,” said Demeter. “She shall go with you to Tartarus, down to the banks of the Styx itself, and there you shall find her waiting for you each time you cross and recross that fatal stream. Will you do it? Will you serve me? Will you unlock the crops by saving my daughter?”
“I’m yours,” he said to Demeter. “Through hell and high water.”
He strode off with Menthe at his side, her long legs matching him stride for stride.
6
Infernal Plans
Hades’ underground realm was laced with veins of raw gold and silver, and held great troves of diamonds, rubies, sapphires. Here also had come a working party of those gigantic one-eyed smiths called Cyclopes. Master artisans, cousins to the gods, they chose to dwell in Hell because they could use its hotter flames for forge fires, and draw upon its hoard of gems and precious metals. There in their smithy they wrought the marvelous jewelry that Hades used to bribe Zeus when he had broken the divine code and wished to evade the penalties.
But after a thousand years of buying his way over, under, and through the law, Hades had come to know the High Judge very well. And knew that while Zeus could be bribed, he didn’t always stay bribed. Hades also understood his sister, Demeter—knew how hot tempered and stubborn she was, how fiercely she doted on her daughter. So he was very much aware that the Harvest queen would shake heaven and trouble earth as she sought to reclaim Persephone and punish her abductor.
In short, Hades knew that because he had kidnapped the Spring Maiden he would be attacked from every quarter. And he prepared to defend himself.
He summoned a trusted adviser, a suave devil named Thanatos, and received him, not in his vast throne room, but on a basalt ledge overlooking the Lake of Fire. Her
e swam those shades who had been condemned to special punishment. Desperately, they breasted the flames trying to reach a shore that shrank away as they came near.
“Greetings, my lord,” said Thanatos. “This is one of my favorite spots. It’s so amusing to watch them swimming, burning, swimming, burning. The shore always recedes before them, but they never learn, do they?”
“Well, they’re in agony,” said Hades. “It doesn’t much matter what they do. This was Hecate’s favorite spot also, you know. She liked it because it’s so high. From here she could watch over the widest part of my realm, and with her matchless eyesight could spot anyone breaking any rule even in the remotest corner of Hell. From here she would launch herself on golden wings, fall upon the offender, seize him in her claws, swing her stingray whip, and flay him down to the pulsing pink core.”
“You miss her, don’t you, my lord?”
“Aye, that I do,” growled Hades. “But to think that she would trade the power and privilege of her office for life in a cave somewhere with her dribbling little scribbler.… I can’t understand it.”
“Neither can I,” said Thanatos, who agreed with Hades on every possible occasion. “Can’t understand it at all.”
“What gripes me particularly,” said Hades, “is that there was no one like her for keeping order down here. All my fiends and demons, trained for brutality though they are, were frightened by her very shadow, and didn’t dare step out of line. Since she has been gone, though, they’ve been fighting among themselves, stealing from each other. Their pitchforks grow rusty, the roasting pits are cold, they neglect the shades who wander about, untormented. In general, things are going to heaven!”
Thanatos shuddered. Hades seldom cursed; when he did, it meant that he was in a foul mood indeed, and that meant that anyone in the neighborhood would very soon be made to suffer. Thanatos was relieved when Hades did not smash his head in with his ebony scepter, but said:
“Another reason I need her now is that we shall soon be under attack. My shrieking shrew of a sister is raging up and down the earth and climbing Olympus to batter at the portals of the cloud castle, demanding that my realm be invaded and that my bride be taken from me by force. I shall resist, of course—unleash all the legions of Hell to keep what is mine. But in such warfare, Hecate would be invaluable to me.”
“Invaluable,” murmured Thanatos. “Uniquely so.”
“We must replace her, don’t you agree?”
“Oh, I agree, I agree! No one could agree more heartily. Replace her with whom?”
“That’s where you come in, Thanatos.”
“Me? As you know, my lord, I am ready to serve you with every last atom of my strength—and beyond. But I must admit, I’m not much of a fighter. Behind-the-lines strategy is more my style.”
Hades almost smiled. “No, my chicken-livered hellion, I don’t expect you to take her place. Of course not. What I want you to do is visit the Upper World and use all your cunning to find a replacement for Hecate. There must be some clever, ambitious monster somewhere whom I can train to rule the Harpies.”
“Dark Majesty, I’m on my way!” cried Thanatos, hardly able to conceal his joy at being permitted to leave with his skull intact.
“Not so fast,” growled Hades. “You’re not going up there on a vacation, you know. Your orders are to put yourself in the way of the ablest monsters of earth and sea. Only by canvassing the entire roster of fearsome predators will you be able to find the one we want.”
“O Hades,” cried Thanatos, trying not to let his voice quaver, “in your service I shall make danger my business—and accomplish the task you have set me, or be devoured in the attempt.”
He bowed low, and hurried off. Hades looked after him. “A coward,” he thought. “But he fears me more than any monster imaginable, and such fear can be a spur. And his wits are as sharp as his heart is faint.”
7
Advice Underseas
Thanatos knew that the sea was a prime site for monsters, that most of them had been spawned there, even those who had climbed ashore. He also knew that Poseidon would welcome the feud between Hades and Demeter. The sea god liked the other gods to be at odds; it gave him a chance to raid their territories while they were fighting each other.
So Thanatos visited Poseidon in his great coral castle in the deepest part of the Ocean Stream. He gasped as he entered the enormous throne room, for it was as opulent as that of Hades, and much less gloomy. The silver and gold from the holds of sunken ships had been used to inlay floor and ceiling. The throne was of walrus-tusk ivory. Into the walls were cut great panes of crystal through which filtered the green light of undersea. Sharks and octopi glided past. Swordfish, balloon fish, and a shoal of lithe nereids pressed against the panes, smiling in.
And Poseidon was smiling as he sat on his throne. His crown was of gold and pearl, and pearls were braided into his green beard. His scepter was a trident.
“Welcome, Thanatos,” he rumbled. “Do you come on embassy from my brother?”
“Not exactly,” said Thanatos, “but I do come on his business. It’s a difficult matter, and I come to you, Moist Majesty, for counsel.”
“Speak.”
“As you may have heard, Hecate, Queen of the Harpies, has quit her post, and my master seeks a replacement. Now, your realm, so rich in so many ways, also abounds in monsters of all sizes, dispositions, and capacities.”
“Hordes of ’em,” said Poseidon. “We’ll have to narrow the field. If this creature is to rule the Harpies and patrol Hell as Hecate did, it’ll need wings, won’t it? That rules out Ceto and Echidna and Ladon and the rest of the sea serpents. There are a pair of flying hags called Gorgons who are unpleasant enough to qualify as Harpies, but they’ve been exiled by their mother to the far northern wastes to guard their enchanted sister, Medusa. But that’s another story. Anyway, they’re not available. Besides, they’re so ugly I don’t think Hades could abide them for a second, no matter what service they could render. What else flies? Yes … there’s another thing with wings—a very terrible thing I know only by reputation. Oh, I caught a glimpse of it once, but was too far away to be able to tell anything except that it was very big and moved with terrific speed.… Why do I call it it? It’s a she.”
“Does she dwell in the sea?”
“Not in my sea, nor in any of the cliffs girdling it. But did her hunting here, and I bear her a grudge. There used to be a pod of charming whales who would gather in a great chorus and sing at sunrise and dusk. Marvelous voices! In the evening they would come right here beyond those windows and serenade me. But that creature I’m telling you about—who’s called the Sphinx, incidentally—formed a taste for them. Hunted them ruthlessly, I’m told, diving out of the sky and raking them up in her claws like a gull after herring. So they quitted this part of the sea and migrated to northern waters. Some instinct told them that the Sphinx hated the cold, and that they could hide from her in the icy depths. So they’re gone, and she’s gone too.”
“Any idea where?”
“Rumor says that she burrows into the hot desert sand, in Egypt most likely. I don’t know how much truth there is in the rumor. Nereids gossip ceaselessly, and make up what they don’t know. But I give it to you for what it’s worth.”
“I thank you, Moist Majesty.”
8
Dream-Tinkering
Thanatos hovered invisibly, watching a tribe called the Amaleki working itself into a frenzy. These were huge, ferocious warriors of the North African hill country who came into the desert once a year to catch mounts out of the wild camel herds. Not ordinary camels, but white racing stock, purebred. Astride these swift beasts, the Amaleki were the finest cavalry in that part of the world.
Now, in the valley that was their encampment, they were leaping and dancing about a bonfire, stoking themselves into the battle frenzy that had carried them to victory after victory. But their intention did not suit the plan that Thanatos had been spinning. He changed himsel
f into a stone figure, and in a voice that was like a rock slide rumbled, “No!”
The tribesmen stopped dancing and stared in amazement. At first they saw nothing. The long, wavering shadows cast by the fire confused their sight. Thanatos came forward into the firelight. Immediately, the savage, bearded warriors fell to the ground, prostrating themselves.
One raised his head and spoke. He was their leader, Momo. “Welcome,” he cried. “A thousand welcomes, O Nameless One. Thank you for appearing to your children, O God of Rock, carved from the central bone of Mother Earth. Thank you, thank you! Fill our bellies with courage and our arms with strength, for we go into battle against a monster that is devouring our camels. Bless us, bless us!”
“I come with more than blessings,” boomed Thanatos. “I come with a gift of life. Yes, I give you back those lives you were about to throw away. You are to retire into the hills with the camels that remain to you, and leave the monster undisturbed. For if you go against her, who is called the Sphinx, you will surely die. Go, I say. Mount your camels and ride back into the hills—and think of new ways to praise me who has saved you from your own folly.”
He vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. Hovered invisibly again, watching the tribesmen prod their camels awake, and gallop away.
Thanatos watched them until they had gone, then floated over the brown sands in search of the monster’s burrow.
“I have deprived my master of many fine corpses this day,” he said to himself. “But he will forgive me when he understands why I forbade the tribesmen to attack the Sphinx. He will understand that I had no wish to save their lives—far from it—but had to make sure that they did not disrupt her evening meal of camel and arouse her to fighting fury. I need her belly-full and deep asleep for my plan to work.”
Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two Page 42
