‘Look yonder, child.’
Their eminence commanded an aspect of the sea. Great Hermes followed with his eyes the gaze of greater Zeus.
A curious motion had begun over the easy top of the waters.
It concerned the foam with which the sea was always flecked. No matter how peaceful the waves, this foam never disappeared. It was silvery white and tended to lie in star-shaped clusters, never far from the shore. No movement of the waves had produced this foam; nor had it been forced up by currents passing through the vents and grottos of deep-sunk rocks. Its origins were more formidable. It was composed of the million bubbles of agony that had gathered round the fragments of murdered Uranus when they’d been cast into the sea so long ago. Nothing would disperse them. They clung to the surface of the waters like vague, broken memories . . .
But now these flecks of foam were moving in a strange fashion. With immense speed they were coming together and forming a downy clot of whiteness. This was happening far out to sea – so far that it was not possible to distinguish foam from fine hanging mist. At times they seemed to be one, uniting sea and sky in a pillar of confused whiteness . . . now bending, now rising like a glinting waterspout such as Tritons, children of the sea god, sometimes blow to frighten the shrieking nymphs . . .
Presently, flushes of pink and red began to stain the white, and a little stream of gold poured out as if from a spring, making intricate patterns in the disturbed air.
The veiling mists swirled and streamed, then bellied out as if some solid form within them had begun to move.
A faint sweetness drifted across the air and, as it reached the land, congregations of birds suddenly rose out of woods and groves. Tiny tattered clouds of wings – sparrows and doves – trembled above the trees. At first they circled – then they began to fly with intolerable haste toward the marvel in the sea.
They met it hard by the isle of Cyprus; and the hiding mists dispersed before the fury of their wings.
‘Behold,’ breathed Zeus, crouching still on the mountain-side with Hermes at his knee. ‘Aphrodite, foam-born, goddess of desire.’
She rode upon a scallop shell and cast a smiling look at the brooding gods.
‘Father,’ whispered Hermes. ‘Do you see how the sparrows and doves seek to be snared in her hair?’
Zeus made no answer but continued to watch as the smiling Lady of the Sea stepped ashore upon the isle of Cyprus. The last fold of mist fell away, and left her softly naked in the sun. ‘Father – do you see where she treads? Flowers are growing – grass and flowers even in the barren sand!’
Zeus made no answer to the god at his knee. His head was bent, his eyes were deep and his fathomless mind reached regions even out of Hermes’ scope.
‘Father – see how she moves through the forests. See how the birds break themselves against the branches to follow her! See now! Wild beasts are leaving their lairs. Save her, father! Save your marvellous daughter! They will rend her – they will destroy her—’
But Zeus brooded on as leopards, lions and rancid wolves grumbled through bush and thicket after the glimmering Aphrodite.
Presently she stopped and turned.
The beasts whined and moaned. Their savage heads swayed this way and that, and their eyes grew huge and golden.
Then each with his own kind padded away into the shadows, accompanied by dreams.
Here, in secure darkness, they groaned and roared as they coupled, each with its dream.
Then Aphrodite laughed – and the sounds of the forest died away into a soft, purring sleep. Only the birds still sung, but piteously, for they were torn and injured from the sharp branches and, as they fluttered helplessly after the goddess, they dappled the leaves with their blood.
Now mighty Zeus rose and smiled down on his messenger. He held out his hand in which lay the tiny coral nymph.
‘She lives, boy. Now she lives.’
SEVEN
THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
The doors of Olympus were open wide; even so, there was scarcely room between the lintel posts for Poseidon’s chariot to pass,
Ever early to come and early to go, the earth-shaker reined in his gigantic horses and turned them into the golden stables. Their hoofs clanged on the brazen floor . . . bronze on bronze, and the red sparks flew.
But Poseidon was not the first comer. Four stallions of dreadful black nodded plumed heads from their stalls; and at the sight of them, the sea-god’s horses reared and seemed to claw the air. Grim Hades was the first guest at the banquet for Ares.
The brothers met in the great hall. This spacious place was the crown of the Cyclopes’ labours, with its arched casements so widely pillared that the winged horses of the sun might have passed through without hindrance to hoof or blazing feather.
‘You came in haste, brother,’ said Poseidon, gazing across the star-paved sky and the world below it – as if the dark stain of Hades’ journey still lingered. ‘Why so eager to greet Hera’s child?’
‘Mine is a lonely kingdom, brother.’
Then the two gods stared enviously at the earth, the unclaimed kingdom where all the immortals were but visitors. Would it be given now to Hera’s child, screaming Ares?
As the brothers dreamed and traced out the rich garden of Uranus where once the ruined Titans had held sway, the great hall began to gleam and murmur. The glimmering procession that Hera had seen from afar had reached Olympus. The huge, eager children of the universe were crowding in, bright-eyed and full of the marvels of their travel.
Star-kings who’d galloped across the Milky Way; sea-nymphs and dripping river-gods who made no bones about avoiding the company of Poseidon, their surly over-lord; and the lively spirits who lived in the groves and glades of Arcadia. Goat-Pan was among them, his shaggy pelt sleeked down till it shone like a dappled waterfall on either side of his deep-cleft face.
Hermes greeted them and moved about the hall like a silver dream, smoothing rough edges, provoking ease; now smiling, now grave, now laughing with surprise,
Yes, yes, Ares would be among them soon. A strong god, golden as the sun. Handsome? Oh, indeed, yes. As handsome within as without, assured the god of tact and lies.
He drifted sideways to Prometheus and his brother. These two stood awkwardly apart, the last of the Titans among the assembly of gods.
‘What will be the new god’s birthright?’ asked Prometheus, his haunted eyes striving to outshine the bland fire of Hermes’ courtesy.
‘Who knows what is in my father’s mind?’
‘The – the earth, perhaps?’
But the question glanced aside as Hermes flickered away.
‘The birthright, boy. What is it to be?’ Poseidon’s harsh voice rasped in Hermes’ ear.
‘Only great Zeus knows, uncle.’
‘The earth? Will it be the earth? Did your father remember his promise? The earth is for none of us. If he breaks his word, boy, there will be—’
Poseidon hesitated, A mighty movement in the hall distracted him. A crowding back – a sudden increase in light. They were coming, the Olympian family – blazing in power and beauty. Athene, vast Apollo and Artemis, Demeter and Hestia, majestic sisters – and in their midst, the lord of the sky and his queen with savage, frowning Ares, whose shout had shaken the stars.
‘—war,’ finished Poseidon, ‘there will be war.’
The mother of Ares moved among her guests, praising and thanking each for the jewels and gilded toys they had brought. Hermes made a way for her, ever charmingly, murmuring a path for her, stepping aside, stepping aside – the queen of Heaven . . . mighty Hera . . . my great father’s wife . . . make way for the imperial lady of the sky . . .
‘And what have you brought me, uncle?’
Ares plucked at brooding Hades, and pulled the dark god out of his dream. Greedily, Hera’s child had been elbowing his way among the immortals to see what they might have brought him.
Hades smiled down at his infant nephew. ‘Sweet Ares – my gift is
in my deep kingdom. A dog. A fine strong dog with three heads. His name is Cerberus. He barks and waits on the farther banks of the River Styx. He runs back and forth; his eyes are like raw rubies and his three mouths gape for food. You shall come and feed him, Ares. Then you may stroke him and throw stars for him to fetch. He is a good dog, Ares . . . and he will love you well.’
‘What shall I feed him with, uncle?’
A shadow, dark as night, came over the lord Hades’ face. ‘I will tell you when I know your birthright, Ares. What gift has your father laid up for you? What crown are you to wear?’
‘Who knows what is in the mind of father Zeus?’ murmured sudden Hermes, interposing between god and god,
Then the smooth messenger, with many a bending smile, began to draw Ares away from the company of his grim inquiring uncle.
‘See, little Ares! See what Hermes has!’
The child struggled and frowned and made as if to roar; then the sun came out all over his golden face. He chuckled and snatched at the little coral nymph that Hermes showed him. Hermes laughed and held the nymph just out of reach. Ares stumbled after it. Hermes was charmed. Ares, despite his beauty, moved like a blundering boar. Laughter followed him everywhere and the child’s face grew red with effort and dawning rage. Then, suddenly, he stopped.
‘Give me that!’ he shouted. ‘A present for Ares!’
He clutched at a silver gown: reached up to a radiant breast over which danced a goddess’s hair. The lady Thetis looked down as Ares sought to take her brooch.
This brooch was of silver, whipped and beaten till it resembled foam; and imprisoned in it was the tiny coral figure of some sea-lover, bent-legged as if crippled, half plunging forward as though bereft of a dream that had dissolved out of his embrace. There was an aching ecstasy in this little coral – a yearning of passionate despair.
Even Hermes was caught by the sweet pain of Thetis’s marvellous brooch. Beside it, everything in the great hall and even in the universe beyond seemed vague and shapeless . . .
‘Gentle Thetis – it is lovely.’
Mighty Hera spoke. Drawn to the curious silence round her brass-voiced child, she too saw the brooch. She fidgeted with her own rich jewels. Though Zeus had ransacked creation to adorn her, she owned nothing that could compare with the sea-goddess’s brooch.
Hera was seized with a piercing envy. She longed to ask Thetis what divine hand had shaped the brooch; what divine anguish had been so fondly expressed,
Then Hermes, as in a dream, lifted his hand and gently laid the little coral nymph under the lover’s embrace. Once more he straddled her. His lameness took on a meaning and his arms were filled. Never was such an image of yearning so satisfied.
But not for fierce Ares. The child, seeing the coral nymph bestowed elsewhere, set up a roar and a screech of rage. The nymph! The nymph! He wanted the nymph—
He stopped. His voice echoed high in the lofty hall, shivering some wisps of cloud. Then the echoes died. There was silence. The immortal throng, previously so busy and murmurous, looked up and about. A strange sweetness was in the air; and a sound of beating and fluttering. Doves and sparrows were flying and chattering everywhere above them. Frantically they were topping each other, quite mad with tiny passion. They darted in and out of the vast casements, and, in passing, pecked at Athene’s owl as if to prick the bird of wisdom into their own wild courses. The owl shut its eyes in pain and bewilderment. It hated the doves and the lecherous sparrows; it hated the new radiance that had come into the high, bright hall.
‘The nymph! The nymph! I want the nymph!’
She came in robes of green and saffron, her soft form shining lightly through. She smiled with parted lips; yet contrived to blush as her gown shifted and opened to her step. Aphrodite, goddess of desire . . .
‘The nymph! I want the nymph!’ roared the infant Ares – turning from the tiny coral image which had so marvellously come to life.
‘For Ares! A gift for Ares!’
The sturdy child was quite beside himself with greed for the bright new goddess. He struggled to reach her . . .
‘Look – look! And him so young!’
‘For shame!’ Athene, Hestia and cold Artemis turned in blushing anger from the sudden plainness of little Ares’ lust. He was indeed his mighty father’s son . . .
But Hera, in her imperial dignity, showed no concern. She loosed the child and let him run and tumble to laughing Aphrodite as if to a plaything.
The brooch. It still absorbed her, fascinated her . . .
‘Thetis. Who made it?’
The sea-goddess bit on her lip. Vainly she looked for her sister, grave Eurynome. But that mysterious goddess was with Zeus, deep in talk. Not to be interrupted.
‘Lady Thetis. Who fashioned the brooch? Why are you silent when Hera asks? What do you fear? What do you hide in your grotto? Is it, perhaps, a child you have borne to some sea-creature’s lust? A child of shameful birth but uncanny skill? Answer me, Thetis. The queen of Heaven commands.’
‘Hephaestus made it.’
‘Who?’
‘Hephaestus.’
‘I know no Hephaestus. Where is this – this shining one?’
‘Under the sea, great Hera. In my grotto.’
Hera turned to Hermes, the messenger.
‘Go, boy . . . go faster than the wind and fetch up this Hephaestus from the sea. Bring him to Olympus. Tell him the queen of Heaven would have him fashion brooches for her.’ She cast an angry look on Thetis, who stood unhappily shifting her silver-sandalled feet. Hera observed them. ‘And sandals, too. Be sure now, Hermes, to say that it is mighty Hera herself who bids him come.’
Helplessly, Thetis stretched out her hand; but it was in vain. Hermes, already on the casement, had leaped out into the boundless air, his winged sandals flashing like dropping stars. Rapidly he dwindled till he was no more than a silver speck. Then far, far below the goddesses saw the tiny green and white flurry as he pierced the surface of the sea.
‘What god are you?’
Ugly Hephaestus, alone in the grotto, stared at the flexible, shining being who flickered about him.
‘I am Hermes, messenger of all the gods.’
‘What do you want with me?’
‘Hera, queen of Heaven, has sent me to fetch you to Olympus.’
The misshapen creature of the grotto scowled till his fierce eyes seemed to withdraw altogether inside the caverns of his head. He limped to his forge and began to work the bellows. The light from the fire cast wild images on his face, so that Hermes fancied that the formidable creature was grinning.
‘And if I refuse, Hermes?’
The god of tricks and lies, who had been picking up the various bracelets and marvellous necklaces that littered the forge, sat himself down and looked up at Hephaestus amiably.
‘Between you and me, Hephaestus, I wouldn’t blame you for deciding to stay here in your comfortable forge with everything to hand and nothing to distract you. But Hera has a husband: Zeus, king of the sky – lord of the gods. And though Zeus is my father, Hephaestus, I would not cross him in anything. His anger might make your forge hotter than you bargain for, my friend. Believe me, I say all this for your own good, Hephaestus . . .’
Hephaestus hitched aside his leather apron and scratched at his great chest.
‘So you are a son of Zeus,’ he murmured.
The two gods stared at one another: the subtle god of illusions, quickness and cunning invention – and the slow, lonely god of beauty distilled from anguish and serenity hammered out of pain.
Then Hephaestus smiled wryly round the grotto he had come to love. Briefly his deep eyes twinkled as he saw that Hermes had stolen a ring, fashioned like a snake, and was endeavouring to conceal it from him. ‘Come, brother; let us go.’
‘Here is the maker of the brooch, great lady, Here is the god from beneath the sea.’ Then Hermes, his limbs still jewelled from the waves, leaped down and hid himself among the bright throng that jostled in th
e hall.
A monster stood against the sky. Rough, savage, misshapen – his sunken eyes screwed up against the light. His great bulk seemed scarcely supported on his bent, weak legs . . . and he swayed in the casement, while the passing air tugged at his black tufted head.
Instinctively Hera put out a hand to save him from falling – then withdrew it under a sudden piercing gaze. There was no mistaking the eye of a god.
Hephaestus stared at the magnificent goddess in robes of scarlet and black: the queen of Heaven.
A moment he had long awaited.
‘Do you still dream of revenge?’ Eurynome’s words in the grotto echoed yet in his head. Even as he’d mounted through the air with Hermes by his side, those words had boomed and thundered. Well . . . well . . . now the dream had come home to roost.
He peered from god to flawless god. There leaned Poseidon, large and surly; there was Hades by him . . . and Hestia . . . then once more the imperial lady of the sky. She flinched a little as his eyes met hers. Revenge . . . But she was a little less than the cruel goddess of his dreams; and a little more, besides. The hand she’d put out to save him . . . He shook his ugly head – and sighed. The revenge that had come home to roost had laid its egg – but he had not the heart to consume it: it was too small.
‘Who – are – you, Hephaestus?’
The lady Hera’s face was white. Her bosom trembled as the strange monster’s eyes searched her through and through.
‘I am your son, great Hera. I am the child you cast into the sea. I was ugly then; am I not hideous now?’
The pallor of the goddess’s face gave way to a deep red. She could no longer support Hephaestus’s gaze. The queen of Heaven bowed her head. Hephaestus scowled. ‘Why did you call me here?’
‘I did not know. I only saw your work. I had never seen such beauty anywhere in the universe. I marvelled at it – and desired it.’
Her voice was low, uncertain . . . and the misshapen god leaned forward to catch her words. Once more her hand went out as if to steady him; and once more she drew it back under his sharp gaze.
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