Ganymede and Other Romantic Short Stories from Greek Mythology

by T. S. Cleveland

  As she wandered an uninspiring garden, a surprise presence caught her off guard. It was a gardener. She did not think a gardener would be needed in a place like this, but there he was, a man in his prime—trapped there forever in death. His name, as he introduced himself to her, was Ascalaphus.

  He was enthusiastic in his greeting, being so bold as to take her hand and bring it to his mouth in a kiss. She allowed it, but only because she was curious. Her mother would have never allowed it. Truthfully, before today, she’d never been in the unaccompanied presence of a man for so long as she’d been with Hades, and now the gardener.

  It left her skin tingling strangely, and she wondered if it was because he was dead or because he was handsome.

  “You look like you’ve died and gone to Tartarus, my lady,” he joked. He had a thick beard, but it grew much wilder than the trimmed hair on Hades’ face, and instead of black it was a rich brown, reminding her of Apollo’s pretty eyes. A pleasant color.

  “You are the gardener of this place?” she asked, intrigued. “Do trees bearing no fruit require special attention?”

  Ascalaphus laughed, and it was such a warm sound that it almost warmed her. But not quite. She was too determined to remain cold. “But there is fruit!” he said. “Just one tree, mind you, but it’s here, and its fruit is delicious.”

  “There is fruit?” she asked, hopeful and curious. “What? And where?”

  “If the queen will allow, I will show you.”

  She followed him a short distance, where a single tree stood in the center of a dull-green meadow. Its branches were springy and leafy and bright, and plump red fruits hung heavy, lovely, and red.

  “Pomegranates,” Core whispered, walking up to the tree and brushing her fingers over a ripe fruit. “How beautiful.”

  “Have some, my queen,” Ascalaphus offered. “Help yourself.”

  “I couldn’t. I have no appetite, not even for fruit as lovely as this.” She offered him an apologetic smile. “Thank you for showing me, all the same. It cheers me to know I’m not the only thing alive down here.”

  “Oh, pardon me, my lady, but King Hades is alive, too.”

  “He is dead to me,” Core countered. The harshness left a bitter taste in her mouth, one that might be washed away by a pomegranate seed or two, but still she refused. “It was nice to meet you, Ascalaphus,” she said, “but now I must go.”

  “Of course,” said the gardener, bowing. “I look forward to seeing you again. Come by any time. The fruit is always fresh.”

  “No doubt,” she replied, and then she went.

  When she returned to the palace, another living soul besides Hades was in the throne room, with fluttering sandals and a cocky grin.

  Both Hades and Hermes turned to her upon her arrival, Hades with a small bow and Hermes with a laugh. Hermes was one of the few gods her mother allowed in her presence for longer than a few minutes, and though she never spoke with him alone, she was fond of his easy smile. Here, however, the smile seemed mocking, and she bristled to see him.

  “And there she is,” Hermes declared, clapping his hands together. Behind him, Hades’ grimace was intense. “She does light up the place,” he continued blithely. “But at what cost, Hades?”

  “Hermes,” Hades growled.

  “Now, now, do be civil. I’ve come with a message from your brother.” Hermes beckoned for Core to come closer as he went on. “Not the grumpy one. The grumpier one.”

  Core approached slowly, hesitating a moment in front of her throne before Hades gestured for her to have a seat. If there’d been anywhere else to sit, she might have refused him, but she’d the feeling Hermes’ news might be better listened to whilst seated. So she sat, folding her hands across her lap.

  “What does Zeus want?” asked Hades. His voice was hard and his face had lost any semblance of gentleness it might have acquired while speaking to Core beneath the poplars.

  “It’s less about what Zeus wants and more about what her mother wants,” said Hermes, gesturing again to Core.

  “My mother?” she asked, sitting at the edge of the cushioned throne. She did not remember it having a cushion, but now she looked down and saw one had been placed there. It was wine-red like her gown, with an attractive fringe and silver embroidered flowers.

  “Yes, your mother,” Hermes assured, sweeping a lock of hair from his eyes. “Do you know what they’re calling her? Demeter the Fury.”

  Hades rumbled.

  “Because she is furious that her daughter is missing,” continued Hermes. “And she has no idea where she might’ve gone. No one saw her being taken, though Hecate claims she heard screaming in the distance.”

  Another rumble.

  “You don’t know what might have happened, do you, Hades?” He turned his eyes to Core again, this time startling, like he was just now seeing her there. “Oh! What do you know? There she is.”

  “My mother doesn’t know where I am? She doesn’t know I was taken?” Core asked.

  “She knows you were taken against your will,” Hermes told her, and for a moment his eyes were sad. But only for a moment. “And it is only a matter of time before she finds out where you are and who has taken you. In the meantime,” he glared at Hades, “she is wreaking havoc across the mortal world.”

  Hades shifted uncomfortably. His eyes darted to Core, then back to Hermes. “Oh?”

  “Her distress has driven her mad and she’s intent on making all of us suffer for it. She has vowed to make the earth barren. Humans are dying from starvation. She won’t let anything grow. The harvests are ruined. If this continues, the mortals will become extinct. And then we will all be out of business.” His dainty, sandaled foot kicked aimlessly at the black marble floor. “There go all my favorite forms of entertainment. I know you don’t care, but I enjoy my human acquaintances, Hades. I’d rather they not all starve to death because you couldn’t choose a bride with a more accommodating mother.”

  “Is that the message my brother wished to convey?” Hades asked rigidly.

  “Not quite. But it was mostly something like this: everything is a disaster and it’s your fault.” Hermes shrugged. “He has many talents, but poetic wording isn’t one of them. Especially not since we’ve been having to pour our own wine.” He clutched at his heart. “Alas.”

  “I may be far removed from the world above,” Hades began, “but I’m well aware how much the humans already despise me. I can hear them, after all, every time one strikes the ground and curses my name.” He scratched at his beard. “It happens quite often.”

  “How surprising,” Hermes sighed, utterly unmoved.

  But Core was not unmoved. As a goddess, she had always been praised by mortals. She was springtime and loveliness and cheer, and her mother was equally celebrated. She tried to imagine replacing all that love with nothing but scorn and hatred. She studied Hades, watching his profile as he continued to exchange snips with Hermes.

  For the first time, she realized he was . . . actually quite handsome. She’d not noticed right away, perhaps, because it was a brand of handsomeness foreign to her. His skin wasn’t golden like most of her godly brethren, but there was a comeliness to his alabaster tone. His hair was not so much black like ichor, but black like the deepest part of a pool in the evening, lit only by moonlight, still and dark, but full of life. He had long lashes that gentled the inky darkness of his eyes. His nose was long. His jaw was angular beneath his finely groomed beard, and his cheekbones were sharp.

  He turned to her suddenly, and she balked to be caught staring. His thick eyebrows lowered in a display of confusion, but he quickly recovered, returning his attention to Hermes. “Do you expect me to be cowed by the threat of dying mortals? I am surrounded by death all day.”

  “It is only a matter of time, Hades, until Demeter discovers you. She has plans to ask Helios what he saw, and we all know he sees everything.”

  Core perked up at that. Helios brought the su
n across the sky every morning, and put it to rest every night. He would have seen Hades steal her from the fields. He could tell her mother and she could have her freedom! She could not tamper her excitement and was practically vibrating in her throne.

  “I am not afraid of Demeter,” Hades claimed. He was taller than Hermes and loomed over him dramatically. Core had to admit, he was very intimidating. And an excellent loomer. “Zeus gave me his permission to bring Core here, and I am very happy with her, as are all our subjects. I have no intentions of returning her to her mother, no matter how furious Demeter may be.”

  Hearing once again that Core’s own father allowed Hades to kidnap her sickened her. They were not close by any means, as her mother had always kept her guarded from him. When she was younger, she’d joined her mother in the pantheon on occasion, sat in her lap while she discussed the matters of the day with the other gods and goddesses. She’d thought Zeus kind enough then. But she’d been so young. And she’d been naïve. She was naïve now, she realized, her stomach knotting. She’d thought her mother overprotective for keeping her constantly surrounded by attendants, but the moment she’d strayed from them, she’d been taken and now, as her mother had feared, her virtue was at risk.

  In front of her, Hades continued to loom and Hermes continued to be amused.

  “It is a fool who underestimates a woman wronged,” Hermes snickered. “Or any woman, for that matter.” He waved a hand at Core. “I will return when things have gotten worse, make no mistake. In the meantime, enjoy married life. Despite all your faults, you’ve chosen quite a beautiful wife.” He winked at Core and was gone before Hades could lash out and throttle him.

  With the messenger gone, it was only Hades and Core, alone in the throne room. Before, she’d only been worried about never seeing the sun again. Now she was worried about other things, things of a more carnal nature. Things belonging to a man and his wife. She side-eyed Hades as she rose slowly from her throne.

  He faced her, walked up to her, but did not loom. He merely stood, and as he looked at her, his grim mouth curved into a timid half-smile. “I have not yet shown you where we sleep,” he said.

  Core inched away. “I could never sleep here,” she argued.

  “You will find that being Queen of the Underworld can be, at times, draining.” He took her elbow and led her through an archway. They strode down a long and winding hall, lit by torches, though little warmth came from the flames. “I strove to make it pleasing to your eyes,” he said, after stopping in front of a chamber door. “But you may make any changes you wish.” He opened the door with a twirl of his wrist and it glided elegantly open, revealing a beautiful bedchamber filled with sunlight and hanging flowers. Strewn across the bed were narcissus petals. A large window overlooked the poplar grove. Everything was trimmed with gold and white, and it resembled nothing else in the palace Core had seen thus far.

  She stepped into the room. The sunlight wasn’t real, but it almost felt real. She turned about, her eyes narrowing on the yellow petals. Hades was watching her closely, and she was watching him. He’d not yet made to enter the room, still lingering in the hall. And in the hall he remained.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  She felt as if he’d been asking her that same question ever since she’d stepped off his chariot. If only he’d asked her whether she’d wanted to step onto it in the first place. But she glanced around the room, at the carefully dressed bed and decorated walls and false sunshine, and she knew he had done the best he could. So she didn’t have the heart to say anything other than, “Yes.”

  She would not thank him, but she would give him this one thing. If he tried to have anything else of her, she was prepared to fight him. Inexplicably, she remembered the serpent in her bed. She studied him worriedly, the way he shifted in her doorway, half-frowning, half-smiling, never appearing content in one emotion or another.

  “If you will excuse me,” he said at last, bowing to her. “I have work to do, but please, feel free to go where you like, or rest, if you wish it. I know your time here thus far has been . . . trying.”

  He left her.

  Hades, it seemed, was not a serpent.

  For nine days and nine nights, he gave Core space. He did not press her to lay with him, did not even try to touch her, other than an infrequent touch to her elbow. He did not steal kisses or share her bed for sleep, or even look at her, unless she looked at him first. But every day, Core awoke to a new arrangement of jewels on her dresser, in the form of a necklace or crown or bracelet. And every day, he would greet her in the throne room with a sweet, shy smile, and mumble something or other to her about this or that, complimenting her hair or her general being, and acting altogether gentlemanly and strange and unexpected.

  He offered her food continuously, and grew more insistent she eat with every passing meal. She continued to refuse all of it, claiming she couldn’t possibly. She was too depressed. She had no appetite. She only wished to be filled with sunlight.

  He respected her wishes, and did not force any food to pass her lips, but at times, when she refused, his eyes darkened with irritation.

  Even Ascalaphus, the gardener, seemed preoccupied with having Core eat. “Have a pomegranate,” he always offered when she walked around the grounds, which was often. She would sometimes hold one of the ripe fruits in her hand, and once, she went so far as to split it in half and pinch a seed between her fingers, but she didn’t eat.

  She spent her days sitting with Hades and watching him tend to his realm, and wandering the gardens mindlessly, her eyes often drifting to the spring of Lethe and wondering what it might be like to forget herself.

  When Hermes returned, it was with a direct message from Zeus. This time verbatim. “If you do not restore Core, it will be the ruin of us all!” Hermes laughed after the delivery. “The rhyming kills me, truly,” he said. “But there you are, Hades. A direct order from Zeus himself.”

  “Demeter found me out, then?” Hades asked, leaning forward in his throne.

  “Helios saw everything, and Demeter made him talk. Zeus tried to make her understand the situation, but she would not be soothed. The world, simply put, will die an ugly death if you do not return Core. And Zeus will see that you suffer greatly. You know how he gets when his direct orders are disobeyed.”

  “I think I can recall his temper accurately,” said Hades. He steepled his hands before his lips, elbows on his knees, and sighed heavily. He looked prepared to deny Zeus, however, even after a direct order, until he glanced at Core and saw the unbridled joy on her face.

  She was beaming. She could feel the happiness radiating from every pore as hopes of returning to the world of the living churned in her head and heart. She met Hades’ eyes and smiled at him. With a crushed expression, he stood.

  “I’m greatly displeased by this turn,” he announced. “But I would not kill the light in your eyes, Core. Nor can I deny my brother’s orders.” He went to her and took her hand.

  She let him. Her hand was small in his.

  “My child,” he said softly, “you have been unhappy since the day you arrived. I do not decide this lightly, as it will break my own heart, but your happiness is more precious than my own. You may return home.” He dropped her hand and nodded to Hermes. “He will escort you. I will not try and stop you.”

  She joined him in standing, looked up at his grim face. He looked nothing like his brother, and he was nothing like him. Like Core, he could do nothing but follow the orders of Zeus. Too late, she discovered he was not as terrible as the other gods believed.

  She cried, but happily, and bowed respectfully to Hades before accepting Hermes’ hand. Hades followed them out, where the messenger’s chariot was waiting. She allowed Hades to help her into the chariot, beside herself with excitement.

  She looked down at him while Hermes busied himself with the reins. “Goodbye, Hades,” she said, feeling an unusual tug in her chest. It was almost painful, certain
ly unpleasant, and it only grew stronger once Hermes started the chariot down the road, and then into the air. She watched the figure of Hades become small, a black speck in a sea of darkness. The tug in her chest warred with the joy, and she finally turned from the sight of Hades and his somber palace, and clung tight to the chariot’s side as Hermes led them through a crack in the earth.

  Suddenly, sunshine!

  Core’s eyes blurred with tears as the chariot zipped from the darkness and landed in a desolate field. Eleusis!

  “I’m home!” she cried, stumbling from the chariot in her haste to feel the grass beneath her feet, despite its dryness.

  “Core!” came an answering cry, from a voice she knew so well and loved with all her heart.

  “Mother!”

  Demeter ran to her, and as they embraced, the field became vibrantly green, the grass soft beneath her feet. Flowers bloomed all around them, sprouting from the earth and perfuming the air. The trees in the distance livened, their bare branches quickening into lushly green bundles of leaves. The birds chirped merrily, and it felt as though the entire world breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “My sweet daughter,” Demeter whispered into her cheek. “The horrors you must have faced!”

  “It was not as terrible as all that,” Core heard herself saying. She hid her blushing face in the crook of her mother’s neck. “But I am so happy to be home. I thought I would never see you again.”

  “No one will ever take you from me again, Core,” Demeter promised, still clutching her daughter tight.

  Too tight, maybe.

  Hermes watched with a cocky grin from the chariot, and for a few moments, everything was fine.

  Then the gardener appeared.

  Ascalaphus leapt from the back of the chariot, where he’d been hiding, earning a gasp from all present, including Hermes, who was incensed that someone had stolen a ride without his knowing.

  “Ascalaphus!” Core pulled from her mother’s arms to face the gardener, whose smile was more unnerving than all of Tartarus. “What are you doing here?”