Ganymede and Other Romantic Short Stories from Greek Mythology

by T. S. Cleveland

  “I’m here to serve my king, my lady,” he said. “You see, I saw you pick a pomegranate from the orchard. Six seeds you ate! I saw it with my own eyes! I saw it, and I’m ready to bear witness to it!”

  “Oh, grief,” Hermes cursed.

  Core looked about in confusion, at the arrogance on Ascalaphus’ face, at the annoyance on Hermes’, and at the horror on her mother’s. “I do not recall eating any seeds,” she began, for she truly had no memory of it. “But even if I did, what does it matter?”

  “My daughter,” Demeter said, “none who eat the food of the dead may ever leave the Underworld!”

  “What?”

  “It’s true,” said Hermes. “How shocking that Hades never told you.”

  Core remembered all his attempts to feed her and she grew hot with anger. Her mother regarded her with surprise; she had never seen her daughter angry. “I can’t possibly be made to return there over six silly seeds I don’t even remember eating!”

  “No!” Demeter shouted, grabbing Core roughly and pulling her close, her arms wrapped protectively around her. “Hades will not have her back. If he tries, I will never again return to Mount Olympus, and I will never remove my curse from the lands.” Already the field was dying around them. Sight of the flowers withering only made Core weep harder.

  “Mother, no!” She could not stand to see the flowers die. Not after being so long deprived of them.

  But her mother’s anger was stalwart. “Tell Zeus what I have said!” she demanded of Hermes. “And tell Hades his dastardly tricks will not work!”

  “My king tricked no one,” Ascalaphus insisted, and Core was unsure how she’d missed the smarminess of his character before. “I will tell Zeus himself.”

  “Yes, you will,” Hermes said, taking the gardener by the cuff of his shirt and dragging him back into the chariot. “You will tell him now, in fact.” He winked at Core, ignoring Demeter’s furious scoff. “I’ll return shortly,” he said, and then, with a whip of his reins, he disappeared into the sky with a frightened Ascalaphus beside him.

  Core stood with her mother in the dying field. “Is all of Greece like this?” she asked.

  Her mother understood her meaning and nodded stubbornly. “I swore to your father I would not allow another flower to bloom or field to be harvested until I had you back with me, and I meant it.”

  “Mother, no,” said Core, her gaze brimming with tears as she watched the last of the flowers die, among them a single narcissus. “Only the thought of this place kept me sane when I was with Hades. If I must return, I couldn’t bear to know the world above was as dead as the world below.” She took her mother’s hands in hers and pled. “I know you worry for my virtue, but I was with Hades nine days and nine nights, and he never tried to take it. Not once.” Her mother made to speak, but Core spoke over her, determined. Like her anger, Demeter had never seen her daughter’s disobedience before, nor heard such decisiveness and strength in her voice. “If it comes to it, you cannot sacrifice all the beauty in the world just because I am gone from it.”

  “It will not come to it,” Demeter insisted.

  “But if it does,” Core persisted. “The beauty of the land is all you would have left of me, and all I would be able to take with me in my memory. Don’t continue to punish the mortals because you cannot have me. I’m not worth so much suffering.”

  “Yes, you are. Why else do you think Hades wanted you?”

  Core sighed and released her mother’s hands.

  They waited in silence until Hermes returned, and he did not take long.

  This time, he appeared without his chariot, hovering in the air with his winged sandals fluttering tirelessly at his ankles. Ascalaphus was nowhere in sight.

  “Tidings,” he said, to which Core and Demeter both scowled. “Mothers, it seems, make the world go round. After a chiding from his own mother—don’t tell him I ever told you—Zeus is willing to compromise. I present to you his offer: Since Core ate six seeds of pomegranate, it is only fair she spend six months of every year with Hades in the Underworld.”

  “No!” raged Demeter.

  “Be quiet, I beg of you, and let me finish.” He cleared his throat. “Core will rightly spend six months with Hades in the Underworld, ruling as his queen, but the remaining six months will be spent in the land of the living, with you, Demeter. Half and half. It’s only fair.”

  “It’s hardly fair,” snapped Demeter.

  “It is the best offer you will get,” said Hermes, finally serious. “And it is a generous one. Half the year with your daughter? Or nothing? You decide.”

  Core was already grasping her mother’s arm and pulling her away so they could speak in private, though she very well knew Hermes could hear them anyway. “Half a year together, mother,” she said. “We must take it.”

  “It’s too long,” argued Demeter. “How will you survive down there, with that horrid man?”

  “I survived this long. I can survive six months. Especially if I have the promise of returning to you to keep me sane.” She looked into her mother’s eyes, held her gaze with all her strength. “You must agree,” she said. “You cannot let the world die.”

  “I won’t,” said Demeter, turning back to Hermes. “I won’t let the world die.”

  Core sighed in relief.

  “That is, for the six months my daughter is at my side, I will allow the earth to flourish, the fruit to be bountiful. But for the six months she is with Hades,” she spat the name, “I will not renege on my vow to Zeus. There will be no crops, no flowers, and no beauty.”

  Hermes rolled his eyes. “How generous. But I am sure Zeus will accept it.”

  “Mother,” Core said, tugging at Demeter’s arm. “I told you.”

  “You told me?” Demeter asked, turning her anger, for the first time, upon her own daughter. They were getting to know one another very well during these fleeting minutes in the Eleusis Fields. “I am telling you. If I am unhappy, the mortals can be unhappy, as well. Let them join me in my misery for half the year. It will be incentive for you to return, lest you decide you prefer the darkness. Since it was ‘not as terrible as all that.’”

  Core hung her head in acquiescence. Demeter would not budge. She would have to live with the knowledge that the world above was lifeless, awaiting her return. She’d have to live with the fact that no flowers bloomed because of her. “Yes, mother.”

  “Excellent,” proclaimed Hermes, his winged sandals slowing enough for his feet to touch the ground. “Then it’s a deal. I can think of only a single person it will make positively happy. Core, shall we go see that person now?” He smiled at her. “For Hades’ half of the year is first.”

  “Not so fast,” came a female voice, and they all turned in unison to find Hecate, goddess of magic and witchcraft, sauntering towards them. Core knew her well, as she was a close friend of her mother’s and often joined Core during her visits in the fields. She cupped Core’s cheek in her hand. “Sweet Core,” she said. “I heard your screams the day he took you. Sadly, I could not reach you in time to see your captor’s face. I’m hardly surprised to learn it was Hades, however.” Her eyes cut to Hermes. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Hecate,” Hermes replied, and Core thought she caught the briefest flash of fondness in his eyes. “What brings you here?”

  “An offer of my own,” she said. “Demeter, my friend, if you cannot be at your daughter’s side for half the year, allow me to accompany her in your stead.”

  “That was not part of Zeus’ offer,” complained Hermes.

  “When did you become such a bore?” Hecate asked, provoking a definite blush from Hermes. Then, to Demeter, she said, “I will go with your daughter to the Underworld and make sure Hades honors the arrangement when his time is up.”

  “You would do that for me, dear friend?” asked Demeter.

  “Of course,” said Hecate. She was a striking woman, younger in appearance than Demeter, with shin
ing white hair coiled in a braided crown atop her head. Little tendrils fell free around her face. Core watched Hermes watching those tendrils, admiring them. It was clear he would not deny her passage, or, very likely, anything at all she desired.

  “Well,” he said, “I have no problem with it, but the Underworld is not my kingdom, and if Hades wishes you gone, there is little I can do.”

  “I will be in no one’s way,” Hecate promised smoothly, kissing Demeter’s cheek and taking Core’s elbow.

  People were always taking her elbow, leading her here and there. And Core was always going willingly, helpless to deny anyone. Except Hades. She had denied him and he had respected her denials. She wondered what would happen now, if she refused everyone’s offers and ran off to be on her own. She didn’t imagine she would get much farther than the dead and shriveled narcissus a few feet away.

  “Core and I are ready to go,” Hecate declared. “Core, kiss your mother goodbye.”

  Core kissed her mother, and hugged her too, but she felt a change in her at their parting. Where she’d always felt protected and cherished, she now felt smothered and owned. Core was too sweet for this world. Core was too pure. Core was too innocent to speak with men. Core was too delicate to ever stand on her own. Core, Core, Core. The maiden.

  When she stopped before Hermes, she held her head high. The breeze whipped at her hair, tiny braids flowing behind her, just like her wine-red gown. The only color in the lifeless field. “I will agree to these terms on one condition,” she said, to which Hermes and everyone else raised their brows in surprise. “I am no longer Core.”

  “No longer Core?” Demeter asked, confused.

  “The name no longer suits me,” she declared. “If I am to spend half my life ruling the Underworld, I cannot be Core.”

  “Then what, pray tell,” Hermes smirked, “shall we call you?”

  “Persephone,” she answered.

  They were silent for a moment as they processed it. It was a far cry, after all, from Core.

  “Persephone it is,” said Hermes.

  And off she went with him, taking one of his hands, while Hecate took the other.

  Persephone. The bringer of death. It was, she thought, as fitting as a name could be.

  “Dearest Hades.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “I present to you your bride—for a limited time only—Queen Persephone.” Hermes released her and she went willingly, her chin tipped proudly. She would not cry or cower over her fate. It would benefit no one. It would make no difference.

  Hades appraised her curiously when she stopped at his side, barely even looking at Hecate as she similarly approached. “Persephone?” he asked.

  She met his gaze directly. “Yes,” she said, with silent challenge.

  His eyebrows did something interesting, then calmed. “I like it.”

  Persephone just shrugged, feigning icy disinterest, but the tugging in her chest turned into a pleasant, pulsating sort of patter.

  Meanwhile, Hecate was tired of being ignored, even as she continued to ignore Hermes’ persistent attempts to catch her attention. “Hades,” she said, “I will be remaining here as a companion to . . . Persephone.”

  Hades seemed to notice the goddess for the first time, though it was apparent he was having trouble taking his eyes off Persephone long enough to properly attend her. “Will you?” he asked, glancing at her only a moment before turning back to Persephone. “You wish for her to stay here?”

  “My mother wishes it,” she answered.

  “And we’d all do well to grant her this one small favor,” Hecate said. “She has lost a daughter today.”

  “And I have lost a queen,” Hades reminded her sharply. “Though not yet. Not for now.”

  “If you wish me to escort the luminous Hecate from the Underworld, dearest Hades—”

  “That won’t be necessary, Hermes. If my wife doesn’t mind it, neither do I. She may keep whatever company she likes.” He bowed to Persephone. “I want you to feel at home here.”

  “Ah, yes, I’ve always found prisons to be extremely homey,” Hermes quipped.

  “Hermes,” Persephone said, suddenly speaking up. Her voice was bolder than it had ever been, and steadier than she could have hoped. “Thank you for your services today, but we are well here. You may go now.”

  Hermes stared at her with his mouth agape, as did Hecate.

  As for Hades, he was smiling. With teeth.

  “It just so happens, I am very busy and have other matters to deal with that do not involve kidnappings or molestations. If you can believe it. I hardly can.” Hermes bowed to them, straying longest in Hecate’s orbit, taking her hand and kissing it.

  Persephone felt a flare of curiosity at the display of affection and couldn’t help her eyes darting quickly to Hades. He’d not so much as kissed her hand since she’d returned, and she wondered whether he was pleased to have her back or not.

  “Goodbye, Hermes,” said Hades. “It’s always a delight.”

  “Perhaps it will be now,” Hermes laughed, winking one last time at Persephone. “Now that there’s something nice here to look at besides your beautiful face.”

  “Go, Hermes.”

  “I am the wind,” he breezed, and with a dramatically lovelorn glance at Hecate, Hermes—and his fluttery little sandals—disappeared.

  “I’m thinking of sleeping with him,” Hecate said aloud, once he was gone.

  “Hecate!” cried Persephone, as Hades choked on air beside her.

  “What ails you both?” Hecate asked, taking in her new surroundings with a swirl of her filmy gown. “It could be a long six months, and I’ve yet to discover how interesting the locals are. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make myself better acquainted with the area. Anything I should know?”

  “Don’t eat the food,” Persephone snapped, right as Hades said, “Don’t drink the water.”

  Hecate laughed and headed towards the poplar grove. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  When her sauntering figure was out of sight, Persephone faced Hades, surprised to find him looking nervous. She did not let it sway her from her newfound temper. “You didn’t tell me about the food,” she accused.

  “I didn’t want you to leave,” replied Hades. And then, “I’m not proud of it.”

  “It would be galling if you were. It is disgusting behavior. And where is Ascalaphus, your peeping, treacherous gardener?”

  “I, erm,” Hades mumbled, “sent him away.”

  “Away?”

  “I did not ask him to spy on you, nor reveal the seeds you’d eaten. I knew not of it myself until Hermes came to me with Zeus’ new offer. He was disrespectful to his queen, and to me, and so I sent him away.”

  “To where?”

  “He’s still here somewhere,” Hades said, “but in an area . . . less nice. Much less nice.”

  “Oh.” She considered. “Do not make him stay there overly long. I think he was trying, in his own twisted way, to do right by you.”

  Again, he looked surprised. She couldn’t blame him. She’d been surprising herself all day.

  “You should tell me,” she said, after a quiet pause.

  “What?”

  “If I am to rule beside you in the Underworld, I should know the places like this as well as the . . . less nice places. I want to be a successful queen, if I am to be one at all.”

  “Yes,” Hades said. “I can teach you. I would be happy to teach you.”

  He led her into the palace, careful not to touch her, but she let her shoulder graze his as she passed him in the hall.

  With six months ahead of her, Persephone was dedicated. She could not waste time crying over her mother or flowers, not when there was business to be done. Hades taught her more about his kingdom---theirs now, as he often reminded her—including the different sections, and who went where, and why. She met Charon, the ferryman who rowed the souls enterin
g the Underworld over the Styx. She learned of the place called Erebus, where souls went to wait for the boat. If properly buried, the souls would then be allowed to proceed into the Underworld.

  “But those who are not properly buried,” she asked, “are not allowed to find peace?”

  “No,” Hades confirmed, and then introduced her to a rather large, fluffy dog who guarded the gate into the Underworld and guaranteed no unwanted souls were allowed entrance. She supposed many might find its three heads intimidating, but Persephone was only pleased to have three times the usual heads to pet.

  “When a soul enters the Underworld,” Hades continued, giving Cerberus—as he called the dog—a scratch behind one of its six ears, “it must then be placed.”

  Apparently it was not Hades who usually placed the new souls, but a team of judges, whom he remained frustratingly vague about.

  “There is Elysium, of course,” he continued. “Where the heroes go. We have a recent acquisition who’s proven quite popular, but he’s put up a bit of a fuss over being separated from his lover.”

  “Oh no,” cried Persephone. “Why are they separated?”

  “The lover was not technically a hero, so his soul resides in the Asphodel Fields.” He shook his head. “Achilles is causing quite the stir.”

  “Achilles?” Persephone asked, for though she lived a sheltered life, she did not live a completely ignorant one. “You do not mean to keep Achilles separated from Patroclus?”

  “Does the idea upset you?” he asked.

  “Yes! And Patroclus fought in the Trojan War, did he not? I think perhaps an exception needs to be made. In fact,” she said, straightening her shoulders, “I insist on it.”

  “I will look into it for you,” Hades promised.

  After being assured that he would, and swiftly, he told her about the final section, a place called the Fields of Punishment.

  “That would be the less nice place?” Persephone asked.

  “It would be.”

  “I suppose most who are sent there deserve it.”

  “There are bad people in the world,” he agreed. “But mark me, I do not take joy in their punishment. It is simply the way things must be sometimes.”