“Never mind, sisters,” hissed Atropos. “Hercules has tangled our threads and thwarted a doom and gone to a great deal of trouble to preserve the purity of one stupid river. But patiently, patiently, we spin our webs—slowly, patiently, preparing so terrible a death for Hercules that it will be spoken of forever, and strike the fear of Fate into all the generations to come.”
HECATE
For my daughter,
JANET
whose magic hands and healing beauty
make the harpies fly.
Characters
Monsters
Hecate
(HECK uh tee)
Queen of the Harpies
Harpies
(HAHR pihz)
Demonic crones who police the underworld
Cyclopes
(SY kloh peez)
Powerful one-eyed servants of the gods
Hundred-handed
Giants
Also employed by the gods
Serpent
A huge snake who works for Hades in Tartarus
Gods
Zeus
(ZOOS)
King of the Gods
Hades
(HAY deez)
His brother; ruler of the Land Beyond Death
Dionysus
(dy un NY sus)
Son of Zeus; the vine god
Artemis
(AHR tuh mihs)
Daughter of Zeus; the moon goddess
Mortals
Orpheus
(OR fee uhs)
Poet and musician whom death did not silence
Eurydice
(yoo RIHD ih see)
His bride
Asclepius
(ass KLEE pee uhs)
Son of Apollo, the sun god; father of medicine
Telesphora
(tuh LEHS fuh ruh)
Assistant to Asclepius; a magical nurse
Vine-tenders
Countrymen who practice the rites of human sacrifice
Thallo
(THUH loh)
A crippled poet
The Tormented
Shades
Souls of the dead
Tantalus
(TAN tuh luhs)
A sinner; always desiring, always denied
Tityus
(TIHT ih uhs)
A Titan who led a revolt against Zeus
Sisyphus
(SIHS ih fuhs)
Another who offended the gods and by result is bound to an endless task
Stone man
A hero who was turned to stone after death
Stone woman
His wife, a huntress, also petrified in stone
Animals
Shade of a war-horse
Who served loyally in life and in death
Stone dog
Who followed his master and mistress into Tartarus
Contents
CHAPTER I
Death’s Domain
CHAPTER II
The Poet
CHAPTER III
The Cannibal Gods
CHAPTER IV
His Song Is a Mischief
CHAPTER V
The Hag Hovers
CHAPTER VI
Eurydice
CHAPTER VII
The Healer
CHAPTER VIII
The Strangler
CHAPTER IX
The Singing Head
CHAPTER X
The Rebel Shade
CHAPTER XI
The Descent
CHAPTER XII
A Hellish Baffle
1
Death’s Domain
Hecate was Queen of the Harpies. And what were the Harpies? They were the flying hags who patrolled the holding pens and roasting pits of the Land Beyond Death.
Hecate’s mother was a nymph of the Falcon clan, her father an Egyptian panther-god. Those of her victims who survived stammered out different stories. But most sources agree that she looked like a cheetah partially transformed into a woman—long-legged, long armed, with blazing yellow eyes, teeth like ivory knives, and hands and feet tipped with great ripping claws.
Hecate was called the High Hag, a title rather than a description. Though white haired, she was always in the prime of her strength. These white locks straggling about her stern young face only added to the terror of her appearance.
Her wings were ribbed and made of membranous leather, tinged gold, wherein arose the report that she wore brass wings. Her followers, the Harpies, did have brass wings and brass claws and were true hags, with hideous ravaged faces. But she, their queen, was beautiful as a cheetah in mid leap, if that which murders can be described as beautiful.
To understand Hecate’s duties, and the workings of that region of hell called Tartarus, we must go back to the beginning of Zeus’s reign, when he was still deciding what kind of world he wanted.
He was seated upon his new throne, a royal perch carved out of the rock that formed the peak of Mount Olympus. On a clear day, it appeared to those below that the whole mighty mountain was a throne for the King of the Gods, and the great plain his footstool.
The towering black-robed figure of Zeus’s brother, Hades, stood beside the throne. The two gods were conversing earnestly.
“These humans must learn that our displeasure will become their pain,” Zeus declared.
“A start,” said Hades. “But not enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“Being mortal,” said Hades, “they view everything as temporary. They know that when they cease, their troubles cease also. And this encourages them to ignore consequence.”
“Not if the consequence is sufficiently painful,” said Zeus.
“I beg to differ, O king and brother. The bravest and strongest are able to endure whatever torment we visit upon them because they know that death will end their suffering.”
“Surely,” said Zeus, “you are not proposing that we grant them immortality?”
“Indeed not. Immortality must be reserved for us gods. But we can extend the human capacity for suffering so that it may persist beyond physical death. Thus, we shall be able to arrange a system of endless punishment that will frighten mankind into docility.”
“But,” said Zeus, “won’t the prospect of eternal suffering make them hate us?”
“Quite the contrary,” said Hades. “When people are sufficiently terrified, they tend to adore those who can hurt them but sometimes refrain.”
“Hades, I like your thinking!”
“Futhermore, brother,” said Hades, “since the logic of my idea seems to indicate the need for a vast prison compound where the dead can serve out their sentences, I hereby volunteer to rule that realm.”
“Do you? It seems a dismal chore for my eldest brother.”
“I see it differently. Such a realm, a dance with demons, made brilliant by pain, is exactly what I am meant to rule.”
So Hades was appointed King of the Dead, and given the vast gloomy hollow of the underearth as his domain. He immediately named Hecate his chief aide. He borrowed the tribe of one-eyed Cyclopes and a band of Hundred-handed Giants from his brother’s kingdom, and kept them working night and day to remodel the place according to his design.
Before real work could begin, however, the savage creatures that dwelt underground had to be killed, captured, or tamed. And so the workers became warriors first—a role they welcomed.
Dragons dwelt underground. They were huge, had wings and claws and terrible teeth, wore armored hide and spiked tails, and spat fire. The Giants and Cyclopes could make no headway against the dragons. But then Hecate found a way to subdue them.
Studying the habits of the gigantic lizards, she found that their dispositions were so foul that they were forced to nest one to a cave, otherwise they would fight to the death. Thereupon she led a raiding party against one nest at a time until she had captured six dragons.
She then assigned four of the Hundred-handed Giants to each dragon. Gripped
by four hundred hands, the creature was held high and used as a flamethrower. Thus, Hecate was able to lead her Giants and six captive dragons against the dragon swarm.
Now these creatures, for all their size, had brains no larger than walnuts. Seeing their own kind spit fire at them, they began to fight among themselves, killing each other off until only a few were left.
The surviving dragons were driven from their caves into the upper world, where they began to prey on humans—which pleased Hades, for their kills enlarged his kingdom.
Still using the captive dragons as flamethrowers, the Giants and the Cyclopes tamed the enormous serpents that also dwelt underground. Hecate then trained them to guard the outlying regions of Tartarus.
Hades bade the Cyclopes build him a palace under a great seam of coal that looked like the night sky. He commissioned his nephew, Hephaestus, the smith god, to make a silver moon that worked by invisible springs and pulleys, and climbed and sank and changed shape and color like the real moon. And the Cyclopes stuck diamonds into the black dome to imitate stars.
A grove was planted about the palace, and was named Erebus. Beautiful mournful trees grew there—alder and myrtle and weeping willow. Ghostly deer glimmered among the trees. Black swans swam on a black lake; only their glittering eyes could be seen, and their white masks.
All this time, Hecate and her band of hell-hags, the Harpies, were overseeing another party of Cyclopes and Giants, who were constructing the roasting pits and torture pens of Tartarus, and stoking the furnaces for a Lake of Fire that burned with a perpetual flame. The banks of this lake were diabolically contrived to recede before a swimmer trying to reach shore.
When all was completed, Hades demanded a secret entrance to his realm so that none might enter but the dead. He chose a lake in the Saronic mountains, and had the Cyclopes and Giants empty it of its cold blue waters. Then they drove a great cleft into the dry bed. Hades named the chasm Avernus after the vanished lake. It led down through a series of interlocked caves —down, down, to the bank of the River Styx, which had been bent out of its course and made to flow underground.
In fact, the mighty laborers had twisted the routes of four rivers and forced them into subterranean channels, forming the boundaries of the Land Beyond Death. The rivers were named Styx, Acheron, Phlegethon, and Cocytus—or Hatred, War, Fire, and Wailing Waters.
Now, Hades was eager to display his new domain. He invited the entire assembly of the gods underground. Also invited were the minor gods—the Muses, the Graces, the Hours; Hypnos, God of Sleep; the wood god, Pan, and his band of Satyrs; the wind god, Aeolus, and his Four Winds; the beautiful flame-haired Eos, Goddess of the Dawn; the crusty old sea deities who aided Poseidon—Proteus, Nereus, and Triton with his twisted horn. And those three crone sisters, the Fates, hobbled down; they added nothing to any celebration but no one dared offend them.
The Harpies acted as ushers, leading their distinguished visitors through the roasting pits and torture pens, showing off new devices like the Barbed Flick, the Marrow Log, and the Gut-winder. Hecate took charge of the most honored guests, Zeus, Hera, and Poseidon, explaining each improvement, showing them about the entire perimeter of the Lake of Fire, and introducing them to the charred turnspit demons and the faceless Torment Team.
After the grand tour, the guests were led to the palace grounds at Erebus, where they were treated to the spectacle of a Harpy echelon flying up into the black vault and plucking diamond stars out of the dome. Then, the Harpies, led by Hecate, swooped down and presented a diamond to each guest. Hecate presented Zeus with an enormous gem, and Hera with its twin.
Zeus laughed with pleasure and embraced Hades as all the company cheered. Then he drew him aside for a private talk.
“You’ve done a marvelous job down here,” said Zeus. “There’s only one thing I might suggest.”
“Name it, Majesty, and it shall be done.”
“Well, it’s a difficult matter and requires thought. As things stand now, no living mortal can enter your realm, nor dead ones depart. So there is no way for the human herd to understand what happens after death to those who displease us.”
“O king and brother,” said Hades, “I have reason to believe that the torments we are preparing will be so intense that a sense of anguish will steam up from this place and seep through the earth’s crust into the consciousness of humankind—perhaps in the form of dreams, premonitions, the ravings of oracles.”
“All very well,” said Zeus, “but I believe we shall need more positive testimony. No hurry though; we’ll both give it some thought. And now, brother, let me congratulate you again. This hell you are making promises to be the most splendid piece of work since we built the heavens.”
2
The Poet
Once it became known that the end of life did not mean the end of suffering, and that divine vengeance would continue to pursue offenders even after death, people were gripped by such terror that they sought to placate the gods by every means imaginable, including human sacrifice.
Thus, in response to any natural disaster—earthquake, tidal wave, volcano, drought or famine—people, made cruel by fear, would select a victim. It could be man, woman, or child—sometimes an entire family. They would be dragged to the altar and put to the sword before an image of whatever god or goddess was to be appeased. Nor were those who did the killing always moved by religious impulse. This custom of human sacrifice was also a useful way to work off a grudge or settle a quarrel.
And since natural disasters always blew over after a time, those who preached sacrifice could boast of a string of successes. So the habit grew. Certain blood offerings embedded themselves in custom, became ritual, practiced not only in times of trouble, but in times of prosperity to buy a god’s favor in advance. Before a fishing fleet embarked, for example, some villager might be chosen as an offering to Poseidon. The victim would be taken to the altar of the sea god and stabbed to death with a knife carved of whale’s ivory. The shrieks of the victim and his family would be drowned by the prayers of those calling to Poseidon for a rich harvest of fish.
Before every Spring Sowing, the strongest and most beautiful youths of a village would be brought to the ploughed field and butchered with a scythe—so that strong blood might nourish the furrows and bribe Demeter, Goddess of Growing Things, to send fat crops.
Most of the gods, while pretending disapproval, secretly relished these blood offerings. Hades, of course, openly approved, for corpses enlarged his kingdom.
But there was one young man who loathed the murderous rite, and risked his life again and again by trying to stop it. He was the poet, Orpheus, the first of his kind, and there has been none greater since.
A slender, graceful youth with burning black eyes, Orpheus ambled about as if sleepwalking, but could move very quickly on occasion. He invented the seven-string lyre and drew such ravishing melodies from it that trees would wrench themselves out of the earth and hobble about on their roots to follow him. And as he strolled about, plucking at his lyre and fitting his own verses to the music, savage beasts and gentle beasts would come out of the forest and stand in a circle about him. The wolves did not hunt, nor the deer flee. But all stood in an enchanted truce, listening.
Born in Thrace, Orpheus roamed the land, never staying long in one place. He reached the coast, and wandered the length of it, but then, instead of striking inland, turned, and began to drift down again, still following the shoreline but now stopping at each village.
The fishermen welcomed him very warmly and fought for the privilege of taking him on board their boats. Not that they were such ardent music lovers, but they knew that when he stood on their decks, plucking his lyre and singing, fish would rise from the depths and balance themselves on their tails, listening. And such fish were easy to catch. But often, as it happened, the fishermen themselves fell into a trance and forgot to cast their nets.
It was at this time that Orpheus began to attack the practice of human sacrifice. Du
ring a visit to one village, he had seen a shouting mob escort a fisherlad to the edge of a cliff. The tall, fresh-faced boy held himself erect, gazing out to sea, as the villagers chanted prayers to Earth-Shaking Poseidon, Sender of Fish. Holding his head high, the boy stood there, outfacing death, wincing only when he heard his mother sob.
Then, without waiting to be pushed, he shouted, “Accept me, O sea!” and leaped off the cliff into the swirling water below. Jumping into water from that height is like falling onto rock, and the broken body spun a few times in the riptide, then sank. The boy’s mother tried to leap off after him, but was caught by her husband and led gently downhill.
Orpheus, watching, was riven to the heart. More than anything else, he was moved by the gallantry of the doomed youth who had tried so hard to welcome death, knowing that the gods preferred an offering untainted by grief or fear. Then and there, Orpheus vowed never to sail on any ship belonging to a village that sacrificed its sons and daughters.
The practical fisherfolk, faced with a choice between the immediate results of the poet’s deck music and some future prospect of Poseidon’s favor, chose Orpheus. So the ivory knives tasted no more innocent blood, nor were any more youths forced to leap off cliffs—at least not while the poet lingered on the coast.
3
The Cannibal Gods
Orpheus traveled up and down the shore, hurling verse against the cannibal gods, and where he passed, lives were saved. After some months, however, he decided to leave the fishing villages and strike inland.
Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One Page 46
