by Stephen Fry
Peleus clapped his hands in delight. ‘That is all? A fear that their son could rise to be greater than them? Why should I worry about such a thing? I would be proud to father a boy who might outshine me in fame and glory, why should I not?’
Chiron smiled. ‘Not all gods, nor indeed all men, are like you, Peleus.’
Peleus waved the compliment, if compliment it was, aside. ‘It is all very well,’ he said with a touch of moodiness now, as the cold reality dawned on him, ‘but the seas are vast and wide. How could I ever find her?’
‘Oh, as to that … Did your friend Heracles never tell you the story of his encounter with her father?’
‘Oceanus?’
‘No, Thetis is a Nereid.fn21 It all happened when Heracles was sent to fetch the Golden Apples of the Hesperides, the Eleventh of his Labours. He had no idea where to find them. The nymphs of the River Eridanus told him that he should seek out Nereus, son of Pontus and Gaia. But like Proteus – like most deities of water, in fact – Nereus can change his shape at will. Heracles had to hold the old sea god tight while he turned himself into all manner of creatures. At last his energy was drained. He submitted and told Heracles everything he wanted to know. Nereus’s daughter Thetis is the same. She will only yield to one who can hold her fast no matter how many alterations to her form she makes.’
‘I don’t have Heracles’ strength,’ said Peleus.
‘But you have passion, you have purpose!’ said Chiron, stamping a hoof in impatience. ‘What you felt when you looked down at the Argo’s wake and saw Thetis rise up – is that feeling strong enough to hold her?’
‘Strong enough?’ said Peleus, and then again with rising conviction, ‘Certainly it is strong enough!’
‘Then go down to the shore and call to her.’
THE WEDDING AND THE APPLE
Peleus stood on the shore of the Aegean and called for Thetis until his throat was raw. From the cliffs and mountains shadows slowly flowed onto the beach like a dark tide as HELIOS and his sun-chariot dipped down into the west behind him. Soon SELENE rode across the sky overhead throwing silver-blue light from her moon-chariot onto the wet sand at Peleus’s feet. Still he stared into the black waters and hoarsely cried out Thetis’s name. At last …
Was he dreaming, or was that a pale form far out rising from the waves? It seemed to be growing in size.
‘Thetis?’
She was close enough to land to be able to stand. Only ribbons of seaweed covered her sleek nakedness as she trod the sand towards him.
‘What mortal presumes to summon me? Oh!’ She came towards him so quickly that he cringed back in fear. ‘I know that face. You dared one night to fix me with a stare. What was in that look? It disturbed me.’
‘It … it was love.’
‘Oh, love. Is that all? I thought I saw something else, something I cannot name. I see it still.’
‘Destiny?’
Thetis threw back her head to laugh. Her wet throat, necklaced by a thin trail of seaweed, was more beautiful than anything Peleus had seen in the whole world. Now was his chance. He lunged forward and grasped her around the waist. Instantly he felt his arms widen and his hands slip. Thetis had disappeared and he was holding a twisting dolphin in his arms. He hugged so hard the blood sang in his ears and he almost fell as the dolphin suddenly became an octopus. Then it was an eel, a sea-eagle, a jellyfish, a seal … more different forms than he could count. Not wanting to be put off by the terrifying oddness of what he was seeing and doing, Peleus closed his eyes, braced his legs, strengthened his grip and held fast, feeling the different textures of spikiness, slipperiness, silkiness and softness until there came a gasp and a cry. Drained by the enormous expenditure of energy that it took to change shape so many times and with such rapidity, Thetis had yielded. When Peleus opened his eyes, she was draped in his arms, flushed and finished.
‘I was right,’ said Peleus in a tender voice. ‘It was ordained. You are not defeated. You are not in my hands, you are in the hands of MOROS.fn22 We both are.’
There, on the wet sand, he laid her down and as lovingly as he knew, he made her his.
There was relief on Olympus. The dangerous prophecy of Prometheus could now apply only to Peleus who – fine fellow as he was, noble warrior, excellent prince and all that – could hardly be counted in the first rank of mortal heroes, to be mentioned in the same breath as Theseus, Jason, Perseus or Heracles. He was welcome to father a child who might prove to be greater than himself. Besides, he was likeable, as was Thetis.
When the couple tentatively put out word that they were to be married by Chiron in his cave on Mount Pelion, every one of the Olympians – indeed all the gods, demigods and minor deities – paid them the inestimable compliment of accepting their invitation to attend the last great gathering of the immortals that the world would know.
All the gods, demigods and minor deities?
All but one …
There was seating room in Chiron’s cave only for the centaur himself, the twelve Olympian gods and the happy couple themselves. Perhaps ‘happy’ is too strong a word, but by this time Thetis had accepted her fate. She was well aware of Prometheus’s prophecy, but a maternal flame she had never suspected to harbour had flickered into life within her, glowed brighter and was now blazing with a fierce heat. She felt exultant at the prospect of bearing in her immortal womb a child destined for greatness.
The divine guests of honour took their seats in two semicircular rows at the back of the cave, Zeus enthroned in the centre, flanked on the one side by his wife Hera, Queen of Heaven and goddess of matrimony, and on the other by his favourite daughter Athena. The other Olympians jostled for position around and behind like spoiled children. DEMETER, goddess of fertility, less vain, sat quietly in the back row beside her daughter Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, who was there to represent HADES, who never ventured into the upper world. The twins Apollo and Artemis beat Poseidon and Ares to places in the front, and Aphrodite slipped determinedly next to Hera, who bowed her head stiffly at Hermes who had entered laughing with DIONYSUS and the limping Hephaestus. When the Olympians had at last disposed themselves with what dignity they could muster, senior demigods and Titans were ushered by Chiron into standing positions around the rest of the cave, leaving a kind of central aisle down which the bride and groom might process. Outside, nymphs of the seas, mountains, forests, meadows, rivers and trees sat on the grass at the mouth of the cave and whispered to each other, almost beside themselves with excitement. So complete a gathering of the immortals in one place had not taken place since the ceremony of the installation of the Twelve on Mount Olympus.fn23 They were all here.
All but one …
The goat-footed god PAN skipped around his band of satyrs, fauns, dryads and hamadryads, piping a tune so raucous to the gods’ ears that Hermes was sent out from the cave to command his wild son, in Zeus’s name, to stop.
‘That’s better,’ said Hermes ruffling the coarse fur that curled between the horns on Pan’s head. ‘Now we can all enjoy the privilege of hearing Apollo fumble with my lyre.’fn24
The Oceanids and Nereids were closest to the cave’s mouth. One of their own was being wed to a mortal hero, which was nothing – many sea nymphs had married Titans and even gods – but never had such an alliance been honoured by the presence of all the deities.
All but one …
The gods had bestowed glorious presents upon the couple. Of especial note were a pair of magnificent horses, Balius and Xanthus, the gift of the sea god Poseidon.fn25 Balius, the dapple grey, and Xanthus, his bay twin, were grazing outside the cave when the sound of a sudden clanging made them start up and whinny in alarm.
HESTIA, goddess of the hearth and home, was sounding the gong to announce the start of the ceremony. A hush descended. The gods settled themselves; those in the front row who had turned round to speak to those behind now faced forward and adopted expressions of solemn intent. Hera smoothed her gown. Zeus sat more erectly, his head
and chin raised so that his beard pointed towards the cave’s entrance. As if following, all within the cave turned their heads in the same direction.
The nymphs held their breath. The whole world held its breath. How glorious were the gods, how majestic, how powerful, how perfect.
Arm in arm Thetis and Peleus walked slowly in. The bridal couple, as bridal couples always do, outshone every guest – even the very gods of Olympus – for this, their brief starring moment.
Prometheus, at the back of the cave, was hardly able to watch. His prophetic mind could not foresee in detail what the future held, but he felt sure that this gathering would be the last of its kind. The very grandeur and glory of the ceremony could only betoken some kind of collapse. The moment when flowers and fruits are at their fullest and ripest is the moment that precedes their fall, their decay, their rot, their death. Prometheus felt the coming of a storm. He could not say how or why, but he knew that this wedding feast was somehow a part of it and that the child of Peleus and Thetis, would be a part of it too. The coming storm smelled metallic, as the air always does before thunder. It smelled of copper and tin. Mortal blood smelled of copper and tin too. Copper and tin. Bronze. The metal of war. In his head Prometheus heard the sound of bronze clashing on bronze and saw blood raining down over all. Yet outside the cave the sky was blue and every face except his own was bright with joy.
All but the twelve Olympians now rose to their feet as Peleus and Thetis came through the mouth of the cave, the one smiling proudly, the other with head cast sweetly down.
I think too much, Prometheus told himself. It’s no more than a headache. Look how happy they all are, all the immortals.
All?
Prometheus could not rid his mind of the idea that there was one missing …
Hestia anointed the bridal couple with oils while Apollo’s son Hymenaios sang in praise of the gods and the bliss of matrimony. No sooner had Hera sat down after blessing the union than a commotion was heard at the mouth of the cave. The crowd of nymphs and dryads outside tumbled apart in a flurry of confusion as the one deity who had not been invited strode through. The form was silhouetted in the entrance but Prometheus recognized her at once – ERIS, goddess of strife, feuding, discord and disarray. He understood that to have invited her to a wedding feast would have been to court upset. But not to have invited her, surely that was to court disaster too?
The congregation parted as Eris stalked down to face the semicircle of enthroned Olympians. She put a hand inside her cloak. Something round and bright rolled along the ground and stopped at the feet of Zeus. She turned and left the way she had come, through the crowd of frozen and dumbfounded guests. She had not uttered a word. So swift and sudden were Eris’s entrance and exit that some in the cave wondered if they might have imagined it. But the object at Zeus’s feet was real enough. What could it be?
Zeus leaned down to pick it up. It was an apple. A golden apple.fn26
Zeus turned it over carefully in his hands.
Hera looked over his shoulder. ‘There is writing on it,’ she said sharply. ‘What does it say?’
Zeus frowned and peered closely at the golden surface of the apple. ‘It says, “To the Fairest.”’fn27
‘“To the Fairest”? Eris honours me greatly.’ Hera put out her hand.
Zeus was about to pass the apple obediently to his wife when a low voice murmured on his other side.
‘The world will agree, Hera, that the apple must surely be mine.’ The grey eyes of Athena locked with the brown eyes of Hera.
A silver ripple of laughter came from behind them both as Aphrodite stretched out her hand to Zeus. ‘Let us not be foolish. There is only one to whom the words “To the Fairest” could possibly apply. Give me the apple, Zeus, for it can be meant for no one else.’
Zeus dropped his head and vented a deep sigh. How could he choose between his beloved and powerful wife Hera, his adored favourite child Athena, and his aunt, the powerful goddess of love herself, Aphrodite? He clutched the apple tight and wished he could be somewhere else.
‘Cheer up, father.’ Hermes came before him, leading a reluctant Ares. ‘What you need is someone we can all trust to make the decision and award the apple on your behalf, yes? Well, it so happens that we met just such a person not long ago, didn’t we, Ares? A young man of honest, impartial and unimpeachably reliable judgement.’
Zeus stared. ‘Who?’
THE QUEEN’S DREAM
To find out who, we have to travel across the Aegean Sea and back once more to the plain of Ilium. We left Troy, you remember, a smouldering ruin. The male line of Ilus, Tros and Laomedon had been expunged by the vengeful forces of Heracles and Telamon. Only the youngest, Podarces, had escaped the slaughter. In letting Podarces live – or Priam, as the world now called him – Heracles had spared a remarkable prince who had grown into an outstanding ruler.
Within the magnificent shell of the great walls and gates constructed by Apollo and Poseidon, Priam had set about rebuilding Troy around the site of the temple of the Palladium which, out of respect for Athena, Heracles and Telamon had also spared. Priam revealed himself to be a natural leader with a passion for detail and a deep understanding of the workings of trade and exchange – what we would call today economics, commerce and finance. The city’s place at the mouth of the Hellespont – the straits through which all sea traffic to and from the east were obliged by geography to pass – afforded Troy tremendous opportunities for enrichment, opportunities that King Priam seized with acumen and an astute intelligence. The tolls and tariffs rolled in and the kingdom grew in greatness and prosperity. Even if it were not for the wealth generated from trade with foreign kingdoms, Troy would have been prosperous enough on account of the fertility of the land around Mount Ida. The cattle, goats and sheep on its slopes provided milk, cheese and meat, and the lowland fields fed by the rivers Cebren, Scamander and Simoeis filled the barns, silos and storehouses every year with more than enough grain, olives and fruit to ensure that no Trojan ever went hungry.
The towers of Priam’s new palace reached higher than the level of the walls and gleamed in the sun to tell the world that Troy, the Jewel of the Aegean, was the greatest city in the world, ruled over by a mighty king and prospering under the protection of the gods.
Priam’s queen was called HECUBA.fn28 In the early days of their marriage she had presented Priam with a son and heir, Prince HECTOR. Little more than a year later she was pregnant again. One morning, very close to the time of delivery, she awoke sweating and in great distress from a most vivid and unusual dream. She related it to Priam who immediately called for Troy’s most trusted prophet and seer, AESACUS, a son from his first marriage.fn29
‘It was the strangest and most alarming thing,’ said Hecuba. ‘I dreamed that I gave birth, not to a child, but to a torch.’
‘A torch?’ repeated Aesacus.
‘A torch that burned with a great flame. Like a brand, you know? And I dreamed that I ran with this torch through the streets and alleyways of Troy and that everything around me was lit with fire. Does it mean that this birth will be more painful than the last? Or …’ she suggested hopefully, ‘perhaps it means that my child is destined to light the world with a blaze of fame and glory?’
‘No, majesty,’ said Aesacus heavily, ‘it means neither of those things. It means something quite different. It means …’
His voice trailed off and he twisted the hem of his cloak with nervous fingers.
‘Do not be afraid to speak,’ said Priam. ‘Your gift is given you for a reason. Whatever you say, we will not be so foolish as to blame you for it. What does this dream tells us about our child and its destiny?’
Aesacus took a deep breath and spoke in a rush, as if trying to expel the words from his mouth and mind for ever.
‘It tells us that … that your baby will be the death of us all, the cause of the complete destruction of our city and our whole civilization. It tells us that if that child in your belly survives
to manhood – for it is certain that it will be a male child – then Troy will burn to the ground, never to rise again. Ilium will be no more than a memory, a burnt page in the book of history. That is what the queen’s dream tells us.’
Priam and Hecuba stared at Aesacus.
‘Leave us, my son,’ said Priam after a long silence. ‘Understand that you are sworn to secrecy.’
Aesacus bowed his way from the room. He hurried out of the city gates without exchanging a word with a single soul. He ran and ran, deep into the countryside, to be with his beloved, Hesperia, daughter of the river god Cebren.
Aesacus never returned to Troy. Not long after Hecuba’s dream Hesperia died from a venomous snakebite. Aesacus was so desolated that he threw himself from a cliff into the sea. The ancient goddess Tethys took pity on him, however, and, before he hit the water, transformed him into a seabird. A bird that in its grief would dive and dive into the depths, repeating its suicide for ever.
THE BOY WHO LIVED
Priam and Hecuba put Troy before everything. Before love, health, happiness and family. They had not built the city up to be what it was only to risk its destruction. Aesacus’s prophecy, if true, seemed cruel, random and unwarranted, but the Fates had never been known for their mercy, justice or reason. The future of Troy came first. The child must die.
Hecuba went into labour that very day. When the boy was born (Aesacus had been right, it was a male child), it twinkled, gurgled and beamed with such engaging charm and unblemished beauty that neither had the heart to smother it.
Priam looked down into his son’s smiling face. ‘We must send for AGELAUS,’fn30 he said.
‘Yes,’ said Hecuba. ‘It can be no one else.’
Agelaus, the royal family’s chief herdsman on Mount Ida, had the advantage of playing no part in city politics or palace intrigues. He was loyal and trustworthy, and he knew how to keep a secret.
