The Oath of the Horatii

Some months ago, you may remember the story of Publius Horatius Cocles, the great hero of the Republic, whose inspiring valour saved Rome from destruction at her hour of greatest peril (please click here for the story). It would have been with profound significance that the Romans looked upon Horatius in awe, for he was not the first of his line to shower glory upon his great city. Some one hundred and fifty years earlier, the ancestors of Horatius engaged in an epic duel to decide the fate of the great city, in a story Romans and their descendants would revere millennia later.

King Tullus Hostilius
Painting in the Capitoline Museums.

About one hundred years after the founding of the City, Rome was ruled by Tullus Hostilius, Third of the Seven Great Kings of Rome. As indeed his name suggests, Tullus was a warlike King. So powerful was his lust for war, Tullus even began to neglect the worship of the gods, something which would later spell his doom. But that was later. Scorning peace as the policy of the weak, and eager to raise the greatness of Rome, Tullus was most at home on the battlefield. Though many men harboured such ambitions in history, Tullus also possessed the ability to win, and was himself a fearsome presence to the enemies of Rome. So when news reached Rome that her pastures had been raided by the troops of the city of Alba Longa, Tullus needed little encouragement. As King, it was his duty to defend his people. The promise of glory was a mighty bonus. Yet Alba Longa was not just another city. War between Alba and Rome was like war between father and son. Both Romans and Albans were descended from the Royal Trojan line of Aeneas, and from Alba Longa had sprung the first men of Rome herself. The prospect of at last uniting the cities under one banner was a grand one, but who would be the master, Alba or Rome?

The Alban Lake - site of Alba Longa of old
Photograph taken by the author.

The envoys of Rome and Alba Longa met before the latter's city with a proposition. For a great dilemma plagued both King Tullus and Mettius Fufetius, the Alban ruler. Both Rome and Alba stood in the shadow of the formidable power of the Etruscans, a powerful people on land and at sea. Should Rome and Alba Longa wear each other out through war, Etruria would overrun them both. Yet honour and fate dictated that one of these great cities would triumph, the other to fall. Tullus, ever ready for glory, suggested that each city send forth its greatest champion to fight in single combat, offering himself to fight as the Roman champion and calling upon Fufetius to follow his example. Fufetius, however, did not have Tullus' bravery. Buckling at the sight of the great Roman King, he quickly suggested an alternative - that each city should choose three champions and put them into the field, as merely one on one was susceptible to the whims of chance as much as fate. Three was also a fortuitous number, containing within it a beginning, a middle and an end. Both Roman and Alban agreed, and each leader turned and stood before his own countrymen. The stakes were enormous, for the victor lay the path of greatness and Empire, for the loser, the path of slavery.

The Oath of the Horatii
Painting by Jacques-Louis David.

As both rulers addressed their men, a tremendous exultation broke out in both camps. For three among their number lay the promise of immortality, to fight for their country before the eyes of both cities and their Kings. So many were desperate to volunteer, both Tullus and Fufetius had great difficulty in finding just three champions. It so happened that Fate had furnished both Alba and Rome with three heroes. Many years before, a man of Alba Longa named Sicinius had married off his twin daughters, one to Horatius, a Roman, and the other to Curiatius, an Alban. Not long after, each daughter bore three boys, all endowed with nobility of mind, strength of body and perfection of form. Fufetius came to Tullus and reminded him of this, persuading the King that Fate must have been at work here. It so happened that the three Curiatii brothers were present in the Alban camp, and the three Horatii brothers were in the Roman camp. Fufetius told Tullus that the Curiatii eagerly agreed to fight, and Tullus resolved to approach the Horatii. Calling a ten day truce whilst the Romans decided, both parties withdrew.

Tullus came before the three Horatii brothers, and offered them the chance to fight, but expressed his concern that they would be challenging their own blood relatives to mortal combat. The King and the Senate had both agreed that no one would think worse of the Horatii if they refused because of this, but that immortal glory would be bestowed upon them should they prevail. The Horatii stayed their eagerness however, and informed Tullus that they wished greatly the honour he offered, but as dutiful sons they must first consult their father. Praising their devotion, Tullus granted them leave. Their father, giving joy to the gods for having granted him sons possessed of such noble bearing, embraced his three sons, imparting his blessing and bidding them go forth as men now, and that the choice must be theirs. Delighted, the Horatii came before the King and agreed to fight. Fate, they decreed, had already broken the ties of kinship between the two triplets.

The Fallen Roman Champions
Painting in the Capitoline Museums.

Both Alba and Rome returned to the field, and a fateful day. The six champions armed for battle, and both armies faced each other across the plain, both looking upon the ground marked out for the duel before them, both Kings nervous with the tension. As the brothers stepped onto the field, both Alba and Rome cheered their kin, calling upon their ancestors, their country and their gods to smile upon this day:

          " Careless of death and danger, each thought only of his country's fate,
            of the grim choice between lordship and ignominy, which they themselves,

            and they only, were about to decide... "

                            - THE CHAMPIONS GIRD FOR BATTLE

The Horatii and Curiatii swore an oath to uphold the pact, that neither would retreat, and all would honour the terms of combat. The trumpets blasted, and with a flash of steel and sweat, the duel began. The crash of blade upon shield was matched only by the shouts from both armies, as the champions fought hard. Just then, the dust from battle rose, and neither side was sure of the other, for the Roman and Alban champions were the image of each other, in face and sword arm. Just as the tension became unbearable, a great shout of triumph rose from the Alban ranks. The eldest of the Curiatii, showering blows upon one of the Roman Three, closed in for victory. The Roman champion, wavering through his many wounds, began to see the mist close over his eyes. The Alban seized his chance and thrust his sword through the Roman's groin. So the first of the six fell, and the Curiatii shouted in triumph, and the Romans grieved as though all were already lost. Enraged by his brother's fall, however, the closest Roman champion hurled himself on the celebrating Alban, striking again and again, his grief mixing with anger. In a great rage, the Roman drove his blade into the man's neck, and the second of the six fell lifeless to the dust. The Romans looked up and saw hope, and the pride of Alba Longa wounded.



The Triumph of Horatius
Painting in the Capitoline Museums.

But Fate was ever fickle, and the next Curiatius looked in dismay at his fallen brother, and the Alban and Roman champions slammed into each other. Both heroes lunged, and the Roman threw himself under the shield of his foe and slashed the Alban's thigh, blood spattering the ground. But the Alban's aim was truer. With a mighty strike, his sword was plunged deep into the Roman's back, piercing his bowels, and the third of the six fell. Now two of the Curiatii still lived, though one could barely stand, his wounded leg pouring forth blood, whilst only a single Roman champion was left. Alba Longa cried its coming victory, whilst the eyes of the Romans, and Tullus, were fixed upon Horatius, their last hope. The Alban champions surrounded Horatius, whose plight looked desperate. Spying that one of the Curiatii's wounds were grave, forced to support himself with his shield as he was, Horatius conceived a daring plan. Feigning cowardice, Horatius charged off into the distance. The Albans mocked the Romans and revelled in his apparent fear. The Romans chastised their champion for running in battle, lamenting as though all hope was lost. But then, reaching the edge of the arena, Horatius turned to face his foes. The Romans, tears in their eyes, raised their arms to the skies, praying to Father Jupiter. Taken aback by this sudden renewal of courage, the unwounded Alban champion's guard was down when Horatius slammed his sword into the man's arm, cleaving his elbow in two, before striking again in the man's chest. Thus the fourth of the six fell. The Albans looked on, stunned, whilst the Romans gained heart. Horatius sprinted across the field to engage the final foe, who was on the verge of passing out, and brought his sword down one last time, and the Heavens shook to the roar of triumph from the Romans...

Trouble and woes were yet to come for the Romans, and indeed Horatius, on their return to Rome. The curse of spilling kindred blood never rests, but the duel had been won, and for Rome the path of glory lay beyond, and the omens of her future looked magnificent. In a future post we shall see the aftermath of this great duel, and the tragedy which struck Rome soon after. The road to immortality was a long one...

The story of the duel was a national legend in the Roman consciousness, known by every Roman boy centuries afterward, and picked up by the generations beyond. The legend can be found in two ancient works, both readily available from Amazon:

United Kingdom

Livy:
The Early History of Rome: Bks. 1-5 (Penguin Classics)
(The full story of the Rise of Rome, including the duel of the Horatii and Curiatii)

Dionysius of Halicarnassus:
The Roman Antiquities: v. 2 (Loeb Classical Library)
(Part Two of an account of the Rise of Rome from a Romanised Greek, more detailed)

United States

Livy:
Livy: The Early History of Rome, Books I-V (Penguin Classics) (Bks. 1-5)
(The full story of the Rise of Rome, including the duel of the Horatii and Curiatii)

Dionysius of Halicarnassus:
Dionysius of Halicarnassus: Roman Antiquities, Volume II, Books 3-4 (Loeb Classical Library No. 347)
(Part Two of an account of the Rise of Rome from a Romanised Greek, more detailed)

The Hummingbird on the Left

With the Creation borne of strife and bloodshed (for this story, please click here), the few people who survived the brutal slaughters that accompanied the birth of each new world needed a protector, a god. Standing high in the Aztec Pantheon was Huitzilopochtli, the tribal war god of the Aztec peoples, who whilst benevolent and caring to his people, possessed a voracious thirst for human life force. For the Aztecs believed that only the offering of their own blood was adequate repayment for the gods' gift of life to the lands around them. It is this very belief which horrified the Spanish conquistadores - the sight of still beating hearts the Aztecs tore from the chests of their enemies.

Coatlícue
Sculpture in the National Museum
 of Anthropology and History,
 Mexico City.

Legend tells of a primordial earth goddess possessed of a dread visage. Wearing a necklace of human skulls and hearts, having two snapping serpents in place of a head and a skirt of live snakes, Coatlícue was a formidable mother for the patron deity of the Aztecs. In these most ancient times, Coatlícue served as a high priestess in the divine sanctuary at Coatepec, high in the mountains above the city of Tollán - capital city of the Toltecs. Coatlícue had many offspring. Among them were the moon goddess Coyolxuahqui, and four hundred sons, called the Centzonhuitznahauc "The Four Hundred Southerners". One day, the breezes in the mountains valleys carried a ball of exotic feathers through the sky. The feathers came to rest on Coatlícue, but the goddess thought nothing of this strange occurrence. But all the same, admiring the beauty of the vibrant plumage, fallen from an unknown yet clearly majestic sky bird, Coatlícue kept the feathers, securing them in her belt. Time passed and Coatlícue grew unexpectedly pregnant. In bewilderment she noticed that the magnificent feathers had disappeared from her belt.

Huitzilopochtli
Image taken from the Codex Telleriano-Remensis.

Coatlícue's existing children grew suspicious of their mother. Though Coatlícue assured them that the conception was miraculous, and that there was no father, rumours of promiscuity began to abound - a dangerous lie. Young Coyolxuahqui, convinced of her mother's infidelity, schemed and plotted against her, determined to punish this crime. Gathering at the foot of the mountain, the four hundred and one children devised their evil stratagems. So swayed by Coyolxuahqui's impassioned pleas and apparent integrity, the brothers resolved to kill their own mother, so determined to purify their line were they. But high above in the mountain shrine, the fell words of her brood reached Coatlícue's ears, borne to the skies on the high winds. The despairing goddess trembled with fear at her injust fate, but suddenly an ethereal voice sounded from within her womb. The voice soothed her fears, prophesying that her coming son would protect her. The next day, Coyolxuahqui and the Four Hundred Southerners ascended the mountain, ready to send their mother to the House of the Dead. But then, just at the last moment, a strange apparition took form. Leaping fully armed from his mother's womb, a tall figure emerged; his skin painted blue, a serpent clutched in his hand. Covering the god's left leg were a dazzling array of feathers, the bright plumage of the hummingbird. This was Huitzilopochtli, whose name in Nahuatl means "The Hummingbird on the Left". Wielding the great fire serpent Xiuhcóatl, Huitzilopochtli fell upon his kin, dealing bloody slaughter across the land. Casting their broken bodies down the mountainside, his bloodlust grew stronger, until the new god stood triumphant at the summit of the mountain.

Human sacrifice - the cardiectomy
Image taken from the Codex Tudela.

Vast oceans of time passed, and the wars of the gods raised the land then laid it low again. One race of people, however, endured in the idyllic pastures of Aztlán in northern Mexico. Huitzilopochtli came down to them and pledged to lead them south to the Promised Land. An ancient prophecy had decreed that the Aztec people should build their city when a certain sign should present itself - an eagle resting atop a cactus with a serpent in its beak. Huitzilopochtli guided his people on the long and treacherous journey south, watching over them, though he occasionally required sacrifices of blood to sustain him and the passage of day and night in the Heavens. Proud of his people and contemptuous of all others, Huitzilopochtli schemed to foster war between the Aztecs and the other peoples of Mexico, eager to gain the blood of his enemies. One day, when the Aztecs camped near Culhuacán, the god spoke to his people, demanding the allegiance of the princess of the Culhuacáns. Loyal to their new god, the Aztecs came before Achitometl, King of the Culhuacáns with a strange request. The Aztec emissary informed the King that his god had chosen the Culhuacán princess as his bride, who would then rule herself as a goddess. Achitometl, overwhelmed as the prospect of having a goddess for a daughter, agreed. The Aztecs took the princess back to their high temple, and on Huitzilopochtli's orders, they sacrificed Achitometl's daughter. The High Priest flayed her corpse and wore her skin as a macabre cloak, fanatically zealous about his new god. The Aztecs then scornfully invited Achitometl to see his new goddess of a daughter, blissfully unaware as he was of her cruel fate.

Coat of Arms of the United Mexican States

Proud as her father was, Achitometl gathered all the leading nobles of Culhuacán to lay sacrifices before his daughter, coming to the Aztec Temple. It was dark inside, and Achitometl could see nothing beyond his own hands, as he readied his sacrifice. But when the King hurled incense into the sacred flame, a ghastly sight tortured his eyes. As the flames rose high in the sanctuary, Achitometl's eyes fell upon the skin of his own daughter, cruelly ripped from her mortal form and now a foul robe of the High Priest. Running from the Temple, the Culhuacáns shouted in horror, wracked with sorrow and maddened by grief, as Lord Huitzilopochtli looked on in glee at his fell work. Achitometl could barely keep his tears at bay as he roared at his people to march on this bloodthirsty tribe. After a fierce and brutal battle, in which endless blood flowed in Huitzilopochtli's name, the Aztecs were repelled and driven further south, though now a destiny of strife with the other peoples of Mexico was now certain. One day, the exiles came upon a great valley, covered with a vast lake - Lake Texcoco. On a small island at the lake's centre, there it was. A great eagle astride a towering cactus, a serpent clutched in its fierce beak. The Aztecs had reached the Promised Land at last, and here they would raise their majestic city of Tenochtitlan. The sign of the eagle, the cactus and the serpent would be a powerful emblem ever after, and even today you will find this on the Flag of the modern nation of Mexico, in pride of place at the centre of the standard. Huitzilopochtli was honoured among the gods, as the mighty Templo Mayor was raised in the heart of the Aztec city, a huge pyramid bursting from the land, where countless grisly sacrifices were offered in his name, right until AD 1521, when everything changed...

" Huitzilopochtli is first in rank, no one, no one is like unto him:
 
  Not vainly do I sing his praises coming forth in the garb of our ancestors; I shine; I glitter.

  He is a terror to the Mixteca; he alone destroyed the Huasteca, he conquered them... "
                                                                    
                                                                    - THE HYMN OF HUITZILOPOCHTLI


United Kingdom

Aztec Hymns:
Rig Veda Americanus: Sacred Songs of the Ancient Aztecs (Forgotten Books)
(A collection of prayers to the gods, translated from the Nahuatl language)

Spanish account of the Conquest:
The Conquest of New Spain (Classics)

(A written account of the conquest given by a Spanish soldier who actually served under Cortés himself, and therefore a valuable resource)

General Reference:
Mythology of the Aztecs and Maya: Myths and Legends of Ancient Mexico and Northern Central America (Mythology Of...)
(A very nice introduction to Aztec and Mayan Mythology, which I found very useful a few years back. Due to the vast nature of the subject, such a book is always helpful in the beginning. The actual front cover is different to the one displayed on Amazon, and the book itself has many high quality photographs in it)


United States

Aztec Hymns:
Rig Veda Americanus: Sacred Songs of the Ancient Aztecs (Forgotten Books)
(A collection of prayers to the gods, translated from the Nahuatl language)

Spanish Account of the Conquest:
The Conquest of New Spain (Penguin Classics)

(A written account of the conquest given by a Spanish soldier who actually served under Cortés himself, and therefore a valuable resource)

General Reference:
The Mythology of the Aztec and Maya: An illustrated encyclopedia of the gods, myths and legends of the Aztecs, Maya and other peoples of ancient ... 200 fine art illustrations and photographs
(A very nice introduction to Aztec and Mayan Mythology, which I found very useful a few years back. Due to the vast nature of the subject, such a book is always helpful in the beginning. The actual front cover is different to the one displayed on Amazon, and the book itself has many high quality photographs in it)

The First Labours of Heracles

Standing high amongst all the heroes of Classical lore, and possessed of one of the most famous names in civilisation, is Heracles. Son of Zeus, slayer of countless fierce monsters, towering of stature, founder of cities and raised to godhood, the answer to why his name has emerged from the ravages of time unscathed is not easily forgotten. The name of Heracles will always be associated with the famous Twelve Labours, daunting and formidable tasks worthy of testing the potential of a man to become a god. Let us then look to the beginnings of the adventures, and the first labours of Heracles.

Heracles strangles the Serpents
Sculpture in the Capitoline Museums, Rome.

There was once a mortal man named Amphitryon, who lived with his wife Alcmene in the grand city of Thebes (the kingdom of Oedipus, for more please click here). But the King of gods and men, Zeus the Thunderer, was ever the ceaseless philanderer, and his eyes had found Alcmene. One time, when Amphitryon went away to war, the god came down to Earth, slowing the passage of time, so that the night grew long and the slumber of mortals endured. Assuming the shape of Amphitryon, Zeus entered the house and deceived Alcmene into believing her husband had returned from the war at last, as the two embraced. The following day, Amphitryon himself returned to Thebes. Yet his wife did not greet him with the enthusiasm he expected. Upon questioning her, she revealed in utter confusion that he had of course returned last night and that she had conceived by him. Suspecting divine play at hand, Amphitryon consulted the blind seer Tiresias, who revealed that Alcmene bore twins, one the son of Amphitryon, the other the seed of Zeus. Furious at her husband's repeated affairs, Hera, Queen of the gods, planned a torturous future for his extramarital offspring. When the boys were born, the son of Amphitryon was named Iphicles, and the son of Zeus, so that Hera might be appeased, was named Heracles, a name which means 'The Glory of Hera'. Far from being sated, the goddess raged at the insult. Hera sent forth from Olympus two serpents to the cot of Heracles, commanding them to strangle the infant. Shrieking at the sight, Alcmene cried out for Amphitryon to help, but upon looking back at the infant's cot, saw Heracles playing with the lifeless bodies of the snakes, whose lifeforce he had crushed with his bare hands.

Raised as one of their own by Amphitryon and Alcmene, Heracles learned the ways of the bow, the sword and the lyre, and soon surpassed all peers in his size and near boundless strength:


                 " The mere sight of him was enough to show that he was a son of Zeus:
                    for his body measured four cubits, a fiery gleam shone in his eyes,
                    and he never missed his mark with his arrows or javelins... "
                                                                      - THE STATURE OF HERACLES


Serving his adoptive father loyally in the fields, tending to the cattle in the mountain pastures, one day two nymphs came to the son of Zeus. They were Pleasure and Virtue, and they prophysied a momentous choice that lay before Heracles. Either he could lead a simple and easy life, or one of toil but boundless glory. A proud son of the greatest of gods, the hero chose the latter. Not long after, the Minyans, another Greek people, marched upon Thebes in arms, resolved to destroy the great city in war. Amphitryon fell in the battle, and in a rage, Heracles lead the Thebans to a fresh assault, unleashing his fury upon the Minyans, slaying many and putting them to flight. Men looked on in awe at the feats of Heracles.

As a prize for his valour, King Creon of Thebes presented to Heracles his own eldest daughter, Megara, and his younger to Iphicles. Megara gave to Heracles three sons; Therimachos, Creontides and Deicoon. The gods, too, gave gifts to the hero. The sun god Apollo gave to him a bow and quiver, such that he would never miss a target.  Hermes gave a sword, Athena a robe and Hephaestus forged a breastplate of gold for the glory of Hera. But the wrath of Hera would not be so easily abated. The vengeful goddess sent a madness to descend over Heracles' eyes. The hero writhed in the agony of his mind, blind to those all around. In his writhings, Heracles murdered his own children and two of Iphicles' too. Coming to his senses, deepest shame welled up inside Heracles at what he had done. Tormented by his unholy crime, Heracles went into exile from Thebes, coming to the Oracle of Delphi for purification. Little did he know that the words of the Oracle could be influenced by Hera. The Oracle spoke, and pious Heracles listened. She commanded the hero to journey to the court of King Eurystheus (who was the grandson of Perseus, for more about him please click here) in the mighty walled city of Tiryns, and serve the King for ten years, and complete any task that may be assigned to him, and upon completion of his service, he would be granted immortality.

Heracles slays the Lion of Nemea
Painting by Rubens.

Journeying to the city of Tiryns, Heracles came before Eurystheus. Under the sway of Hera, the King crafted a series of impossible tasks, such that no ordinary man could ever accomplish. For his first task, Eurystheus ordered, Heracles was to bring to him the skin of the Lion of Nemea. This monster was no ordinary lion. One of the dread offspring of Typhon and Echidna (for more about them, please click here), the Nemean Lion was invulnerable to the weapons of man. Its hide was impervious to spear, sword and arrow. Heracles arrived in Nemea, and soon found the creature, which terrorised the local people. Taking up Apollo's bow, Heracles loosed an arrow at the Lion, hoping for an easy victory. The arrow however, simply bounced off the monster's hide. Fashioning a club from a nearby tree, the hero tried to strike the monster, but it too was in vain. The Lion retreated to a cave in the mountains, so Heracles walled up one exit, leaving one cave mouth open. Venturing inside, the two powerful beings launched themselves at each other, the Lion's roar shaking the plains as Heracles grappled with the beast. Heracles throttled the Nemean Lion, using his own Titan strength to crush the beast's neck. Finding his knife unable to flay the body of it even in death, Heracles could only cut the monster's hide with its own claws. Wearing the hide around him as a cloak, Heracles journeyed back to Tiryns.

Heracles slays the Lernaean Hydra
Painting by Antonio del Pollaiolo.

Shocked by Heracles' prowess, Eurystheus hid inside the walls, forbidding Heracles entry to the city, fearing his might. Angered by the hero's success, Eurystheus decreed a second task, sure to prove too great this time. The King ordered Heracles to slay the infamous Hydra of Lernaea, a hideous monster which emerged from the swamps of Lerna to devastate the plains, slaughtering cattle and humans alike. Another of the fearsome brood of Typhon and Echidna, the Hydra was a vast creature, crowned with nine heads, each dribbling toxic poison. Eight of the beast's heads were mortal, but the ninth was invulnerable. Treading cautiously, Heracles, along with his nephew Iolaos, discovered the monster's lair near the springs of Amymone, hurling flaming brands to make the creature emerge. Emerge it did, and the hero hurled himself at it, grasping hold of the monster's trunk. The Hydra slithered its tails around his leg and began to squeeze, as Heracles drew forth his mighty club and swung down with all his might, striking with such force that one of the beast's many heads flew through the air, severed from its giant body. To the hero's despair, however, two new heads sprouted forth from the scaly stump. Retreating to rethink, Heracles called upon Iolaos to help. Attacking once more, as Heracles struck off the monster's heads, he ordered Iolaos to burn the stumps with a torch to prevent the creature regenerating. With one last almighty strike, Heracles severed the final head. But the head could not die, for it was blessed with immortality. So Heracles used his mighty strength to lift a huge boulder high, burying the monstrous head beneath it, so that it might never strike out again. Moving over the huge body, Heracles dipped his arrows in the creature's blood, which ran with lethal venom, sure that more fierce beings were yet to come on his adventures. Taking himself back to Eurystheus, Heracles was enraged to hear the King refuse to accept the validity of his task. Secretly furious that Heracles still lived, the King decreed that the slaying of the Hydra did not count, since the Hero had required the help of Iolaos to slay the beast. More labours were yet to come, but now Heracles was truly alone...

Revered by the Greeks, worshipped in the West and imitated by more than one Roman Emperor, the stories of the toils and hardships endured by Heracles have been told for not just centuries, but millennia. In coming posts we shall return to the adventures of Heracles, ever relentless in his quest for immortality and redemption. The stories of this great hero are scattered wide through the literature of Greece and Rome, but a good narrative may be found in the work of Apollodorus, a tome easily available from Amazon:

United Kingdom

The Library of Mythology:
The Library of Greek Mythology (Oxford World's Classics)
(A vast collection of stories of old Greece, written and compiled in ancient times)

United States

The Library of Mythology:
The Library of Greek Mythology (Oxford World's Classics)
(A vast collection of stories of old Greece, written and compiled in ancient times)

To Lower Hell

Shaken from the sight of the wrathful souls at war with each other, Dante is surprised to suddenly see before him in the distance a towering wall of stone (for the previous episode of this, please click here). Seized by curiosity, he sees great flames bursting upon its lofty battlements, just too far away to perceive. Before his questions can be answered however, an ancient craft appears in the dank waters of the Styx. A boat, ragged with age breaks the surf, steered by a fearsome man, bent with age. He is Phlegyas, boatman of the Styx (and also, in life, was the father of Ixion - for more see here).

The Furies taunt Dante
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

His spiteful exhortations rebuked by swift words of Virgil, Phlegyas steps back to receive his crew. Our pilgrim notices that only when he places a foot in the skiff does it sink with the weight - the weight of the living. Sweeping across the Styx low in the waves, Dante spies in horror a slimy hand emerge from the dark depths. "Who are you, who come before your time?" the shade enquires. The poet recognises the dead man's face; it is Filippo Argenti, a man he once knew in life, an arrogant and foul man. "May you weep and wail, stuck here in this place forever, you damned soul!" Dante bravely replies. Argenti tries in vain to reach for the boat, but harsh words from Virgil lash him back to the depths. Virgil turns to his protégé and commends his rebuke of so vulgar a soul. Reaching the foot of the walls, they set foot upon land once more. A reddish glow seems to rise beyond the citadel. This is the city of Dis, a keep which guards the lower regions of Hell, reserved for graver crimes yet.

The bright glow Dante sees is that of the Eternal Fire burning beyond, maiming so many souls yet to come. Atop the battlements of Dis lurk many thousand Fallen Angels, who once rose in impious war against God himself (for this story, please click here). Intimidated by their jeers, Dante is reassured by Virgil, who tells him that none can harm him, by God's command, they are fearsome to the mind and eyes alone. Approaching the gate, they find their way barred by the demonic host. Awaiting aid, the two poets rest awhile, as Virgil once more strengthen Dante's resolve, reassuring him that he has passed this gate once before. Just then a new apparition appears, but it is no servant of Heaven. The Three Furies; Megaera, Alecto and Tisiphone, and in their wake the Gorgon Medusa (whose story is told here). Quickly clapping his hands over Dante's eyes, Virgil does not trust to chance that our poet may allow curiosity to defeat his fear. For one the glance of the Gorgon will ensure Dante never leaves this place. The fell spirits taunt and chide the pilgrim for his life, and his fear. But, just then, an angel arrives from Heaven, scattering the evil spirits and condemned shades afar. Denouncing the Fallen Angels for their futile resistance, the shining spectre opens the gates for the two poets, and their journey begins in Lower Hell.

The Heretics
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

The land of Hell is different here. 'A countryside of pain and ugly anguish' stretches before Dante's eyes. Scattered in the plain all about are countless graves, open too, their lids cast aside, and roaring flames pouring from within. To his anguish, Dante can just make out the screams of the tortured souls, bound in their deathly graves. Here, in the Sixth Circle of Hell, are condemned those who spread heresy in life. Just as their fiery tongues spread malice in life, so now they bathe in fire in Hell. False prophets of Christendom lie afire, as do ancient philosophers of the Epicurean school, who believed that the soul died with the body on Earth. Nor are the deep graves for one soul each. Each sarcophagus is home to many, all packed within the inferno. Yet another soul, Farinata, is one Dante knew in life, who was his enemy in Florence in days of old. The two speak of the ills of Florence and her scheming politics, as another soul rises from its fiery grave. He was once Cavalcanti in life, and begs Dante tell him of his son, does he still live? Shocked by the shade's emotion, Dante cannot speak. Misinterpreting his silence, Cavalcanti believes his son dead, and retires, weeping, to his ordeal, cursed to ponder it for all time. Dante begs Farinata to go and tell the spirit of Cavalcanti that his son is indeed alive on Earth, and that his silence was not meant as he took it. Seized by curiosity once more, Dante enquires as to why so many souls have asked him of the current affairs on Earth. The souls damned in Hell, Farinata tells him, are cursed to see the future, and future alone, and know nothing of the present, "this much the sovereign lord grant us here". When the Final Judgement comes, the future will be closed off to them, and all hope will be lost, left to see nothing but their own endless torment.

The Violent against people and property
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

Moving on at Virgil's bidding, and coming to a steep bank, a dreadful stench rises from a nearby pit. It is a vast grave, vomiting forth vile miasma. The inscription on the coffin lid nearby states "Within lies Anastasius, the Pope". Indeed, a great many men of the cloth are condemned in Hell, neither Pope nor Cardinal is safe from judgement. Coming to another ridge, they spy a monster, the Minotaur of Crete, lying at the edge of the abyss, guarding the Seventh Circle of Hell. Virgil cries out to the Bull, reminding him that he is cursed there too, cast down to the House of Death by Theseus long ago. The Minotaur writhes in rage, an anger so intense the beast cannot rise, shuddering pathetically by the Pit. Here, in the three rings of the Seventh Circle, are punished the violent, each guilty of malicious violence to a different being. Descending into the first ring, a vast river of boiling blood flows past in cruel torrents. Burning in this foul current are those who through violence injured other men or their property in life. Galloping around the rim of the river Phlegethon are a herd of Centaurs, who hunt with their arrows any soul which tries in desperation to claw its way up from the river. Our pilgrim recognises powerful men of old burning up to the eyebrows, he sees Alexander, the tyrant Dionysius, even Attila, King of the Huns and the Scourge of God, all tormented in the sanguine waves. Eyeing the two poets with suspicion, Chiron, leader of the Centaurs, demands their purpose, lest they be shot too. Once again, Virgil takes control, and asks guidance for the way beyond, ordered thus by the Almighty. Dante, as a living man, cannot touch the Phlegethon, and is borne across a ford by the Centaur Nessus, as they approach the second ring.

The Suicides
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

Reaching a grand forest, the poets enter the second ring. No leaf here was green however. Twisted, gnarled and entangled trees sprouted forth leaves of charcoal black, as cruel thorns of poison bloomed where flowers should be. This is a forlorn place, one of sorrow and melancholy. In the high branches, harpies stir, foul birds, shrieking eerie calls. Wails and lamentations of grief sounded all about, and Virgil eyes our pilgrim:




                       " And so my teacher said, 'If you break off
                                a little branch of any of these plants,
                                what you are thinking now will break off too'.

                        Then slowly raising up my hand a bit
                               I snapped the tiny branch of a great thornbush,
                               and its trunk cried: 'Why are you tearing me'... "
                                                           - DANTE UNCOVERS THE TORMENTED
                                                       
To his horror, Dante realised that all of the trees of this forest are souls, cruelly bound as trees. As blood spurts forth from the stump, the soul cries in pain. Here are punished the suicides. Just as they scorned the gift of their bodies in life, now they are denied their own form here in Hell. The soul reveals himself to have once been Pier delle Vigne, an advisor to King Frederick II of Sicily. He was once his most loyal servant, but due to the intrigues of jealous courtesans, fell from favour and was cast into jail. Lamenting his injustice and losing all hope, he took his own life, dashing his head against the cell wall. He came to Hell, and his earthly body was torn away from him, as King Minos hurled his soul down here. Just as he had shown no care for his body in life, no care was shown for his soul in Hell. His soul fell in this land, and germinated a tree. The Harpies relentlessly feed on his leaves, and their constant movements break off branches, leaving him in constant agony. Just then new souls run into the clearing, terrified and lost. They are profligates, who recklessly did violence to their own property in life. One hides in desperation in a thorny bush. Suddenly a pack of ferocious hounds charge in, snapping branches as they go, as they maul the poor soul, tearing his flesh with their fangs. The thorny bush laments in pain, a soul who was once a Florentine in life who hanged himself in his home. Dante is left to ponder the bond he feels to his native city, weeping at so many others like him now cursed in Hell... Yet much remained along the path of the Inferno...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:

Dante: Inferno (Penguin Classics)

(A nice edition which even has the original Italian on the left hand side of the page!)

Oxford World's Classics:

The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(Accessible and well annotated, also includes Purgatorio and Paradisio)

United States

Penguin Classics:
The Divine Comedy: Volume 1: Inferno (Penguin Classics) (Pt. 1)
(A nice edition which even has the original Italian on the left hand side of the page!)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(Accessible and well annotated, also includes Purgatorio and Paradisio)

The Agony of the Plumed Serpent

Unlike their famous neighbours to the West, the Mayans of the Central Americas were far older than the Aztecs. Hailing from the Yucatán Peninsula in the East (which, interestingly, is the site of impact of the meteorite which struck the Earth sixty-five million years ago, annihilating the dinosaurs), the Maya people had been a majestic civilisation many centuries before the arrival of the Conquistadores.  When Spanish, and later English, colonists arrived in the Yucatán, not for the first time would the towering ruins strike awe into the hearts of men, nor would the grand stories the Maya told of their gods.

Chichén Itzá - One of the greatest Maya Cities
Photograph taken by Claude Belair.

Rivalling the Egyptians in their age, the Mayans began to make their mark five thousand years ago. Rising to be the greatest power in Central America by the turn of the Common Era, the future looked bright for the Maya. But, for reasons unknown, the Mayan Empire fell from grace in the 10th century AD. Great cities were abandoned, temples neglected and material wealth declined. A mere shadow of its former self by the time the Spaniards were at their doorstep, the story of the Maya is one of melancholy. Their relative poverty in gold and silver spared them the greed of Europe as Spanish steel slaughtered their Aztec brethren, but not for long. Holding out for a little over twenty years after the fall of Tenochtitlan in 1521, the Maya did not go down without a fight. Nor, according to legend, did their gods. The story of how man came to be according to the Maya is one of remarkable tenacity, and age old struggle in pursuit of the 'perfect being', the search for which brought about the world of the Maya.

                      " Now it still ripples, now it still murmurs, ripples, it still sighs,
                        still hums, and it is still empty under the sky.
                        Cometh the first words, that first eloquence... "
                                               - THE CREATION IS OPENED

The Temple of Kukulkan at Chichén Itzá
Photograph taken by Kyle Simourd.

There is no life. There is not one person, one bird, one fish, one tree, one meadow, one forest, one mountain, one gorge or one river. The sky is there, standing high above the barren cosmos. The land is not there, only the vast oceans gathered under the towering skies. The natural order of things is tranquil, and at harmony, yet empty and lifeless. Ruling over this shell, the Plumed Serpent stirs, named Q'uq'umatz in old K'iche' Mayan, Quetzalcóatl in the Nahuatl Aztec tongue and Kukulkan in high Mayan. The Serpent Lord is a magnificent being to behold, resplendent in the blue-green sheen of the vibrant quetzal feathers which adorn his form. Within the high skies, there resides another being, the Heart of the Sky, who glides through the aether to the mighty serpent. The two powers spoke long through the darkness. The ceaseless peace was intolerable. They desired more than air and water for their own. But behold! As each new word fell from their lips, that which was spoken was born. As the Plumed Serpent, Heart of the Sky and his offspring Hurricane, Newborn and Sudden Thunderbolt spoke, that which they longed for came up from the void. Soon, the Plumed Serpent spake the word 'Earth', and a vast form unfurled in the mists of the endless waters. Vast mountains peaks tore through the surf and reached for the skies. The genius of their fertile minds soon gave birth to vast forests upon the bare mountains, as mighty vales of cypress and pine came upon the land. The ocean's waters fell among the pinnacles of stone, and rivers and streams were born. Holding back the skies and the Earth from one another, the Plumed Serpent was pleased with this grand new realm.

Beautiful as it was to behold, all that could be heard upon earth was simply the wind in the trees. The gods considered, "Why this pointless humming? Why should there merely be rustling beneath the trees and bushes?" Their land needed guardians, they thought, and as they thought and spoke it, all manner of animals took form upon the land; deer, birds and many which are hunted now by man. To the meadows were sent the deer and the tall trees and skies the birds for a home. Each were commanded to speak to each other and the gods. The gods asked the animals to give thanks to them for their life. The animals tried, but could not form the words of the gods' language. They howled, screeched and squawked, but did not say thank you. In anger, the Plumed Serpent cursed them to hunt each other for eternity, and feast on the flesh of their brethren. The first attempt of humankind had failed.

Tikal - A great Mayan city
Photograph taken by Clark Anderson.

Not giving in, the gods turned to their own hands for Creation. Taking both earth and water, they crafted a form of mud. Their new creation was as a man in shape, but it was imperfect. This man simply crumbled, disintegrated and dissolved. His face became deformed. He spoke, but could not talk sense. Soon he returned to the aether from which he came. The Plumed Serpent despaired. The other gods decreed that this new creation was to be called Thought, fleeting and transitory as it was, but lacking strong form. The gods tried once again. This time they turned to the wood of the trees that they had themselves borne of thought.. Taking the wood, the gods carved it, whittling from it the form of a man, with a strong mouth amongst its features. These new men came into being, and multiplied across the Earth, chattering happily to each other. "But there was nothing in their hearts and nothing in their minds, no memory of their mason and builder". They ran amok across the Earth, but knew nothing of the Plumed Serpent or Heart of the Sky. Their bodies were dry, and their faces began to crust through lack of sweat. Another attempt had failed, and the gods decreed that these new beings would remain in the trees from whence they came, and their descendants are the monkeys of today. The Plumed Serpent vented his frustration on the Earth with a great flood, a rain of resin from the sky, and terrible monsters which hunted and mutiliated all in their path, all but wiping out the animals of Earth.

Trying one last time, the Plumed Serpent desperately sought out the ingredients for the recipe of man. Calling the approaching dawn, he bade all the animals of the Earth to bring all the food they could find before him. Coming down from the mountains, fearful of his wrath, the creatures of Earth brought all manner of sweet fruits and crops. They brought Cacao, pataxte, innumerable zapotes, anonas, jacotes, nances, matasanos and countless other fruits, all exotic to our eyes. Then the last brought before the Plumed Serpent simple corn. Seeing the corn as the essence of the Earth, which will sustain man for eternity, the Plumed Serpent decreed the new men to be fashioned from the humble maize seed. The goddess Xmucane took the corn and ground it, and nine times she ground it. The other foods, along with the water she rinsed her hands with, created the fat which clings to men's bones. The oceans gave blood to the veins of men, and the other gods fashioned a heart and soul. Four men were born of this new attempt. They looked around and gave thanks to the Plumed Serpent for their life, and began to faithfully work the land. They sacrificed to the gods, and honoured the seasons. As they looked upon the world they were given, their knowledge grew, and their intellect with it. The gods were delighted at last, and the Plumed Serpent was at last satisfied. Finally, a race which could offer the gratitude he so craved, and guard the spectacular creation which he had unleashed, was born...

The story of the Creation according to the Maya is a vast tale, and the struggle for humanity long and arduous, spattered with blood and poetry in equal measure. The tales are recorded in a scripture known as the Popol Vuh, Mayan for 'Book of the People'. Unlike almost every other such account across the civilisations of man, this story is written and told like a novel, not a grandiose work of epic or prayer. Give it a go, and you will see this. The result if a thoroughly refreshing and engaging read. You can get a copy quite easily, and due to the comparative obscurity of Mayan mythology in the West, at a very good price from Amazon:

United Kingdom

Mayan Lore:
Popol Vuh
(A unique relic of the Mayan age, Popol Vuh is the Mayan literary telling of their Creation. It is very readable, dispensing with lofty formulae in favour of a more personal story)

United States

Mayan Lore:
Popol Vuh: The Definitive Edition of The Mayan Book of The Dawn of Life and The Glories of Gods and Kings
(A unique relic of the Mayan age, Popol Vuh is the Mayan literary telling of their Creation. It is very readable, dispensing with lofty formulae in favour of a more personal story)

The Dwarven Wager

Ever the deceiver, tranquility and peace was a balance only ever to be overturned in the mind of Loki (for more about him, click here). Through cruel intelligence and expertly crafted trickery, even the mightiest of gods and beings had been lead astray by Loki's sleight of hand. Though friend to the Aesir of Asgard, Loki was never truly one of them. There were times, however, when the god paid the price for his mischief. This is the story of Loki's wager with the dwarves.

Sif - goddess of the fertile Earth
Drawing by John Charles Dollman.

Of all the Aesir, there existed a curious friendship between Loki and Thor, son of Odin and Thunder god. The two frequently adventured together to the realm of the giants, in the name of honour, or sometimes simply for sport (for the story of one such adventure, please click here). The powerful Jötunn (giants), and even other gods were jealous of Thor for the renowned beauty of his wife, the goddess Sif, patron of the fertile earth. Renowned particularly for her hair, gold as the wheat fields which abound on the earthly plains, Sif was also admired for her virtue. Ever thirsting for anarchy however, was Loki. One night, with mischievous designs, Loki quitely crept up behind the sleeping goddess and cut off her hair. When the thunder god received word of this, he was under no illusions as to who the perpetrator was. Seizing the god in rage, Thor would have broken every bone in Loki's body, had the trickster not sworn to travel to the land of the dwarves to acquire new hair of gold.

The anger of Thor soon sped Loki on his way. Coming to the searing heat of the dwarven forge, Loki encountered two dwarves, hard at work at the bellows and the anvil. The dwarves were brothers, Brokk and Eitri, the sons of Ívaldi and famous for their skill as craftsmen. Asking the dwarves if they would forge new hair worthy of the goddess Sif, the brothers got to work. Soon after, Brokk presented Loki with three gifts. First, the magnificent new hair of shining gold for Sif, second a magical ship, called Skíðblaðnir for Freyr (a fertility god), and finally, a mighty enchanted spear for Odin, King of the Gods, called Gungnir. Greedy for more wonders, Loki's spiteful nature came to a head once more. Loki flattered the dwarf, and said that Eitri could never make three gifts so marvellous as those of Brokk. Sensing the deception at work, Brokk said that if Eitri could, then he would take Loki's head. Loki agreed, as long as the dwarf take only his head and not the neck. The dwarves happily accepted, knowing that Loki would soon be humbled.

The Dwarves and their gifts
Print by Elmer Boyd Smith.

Beckoning to Brokk to work the bellows, Eitri took up the hammer and tongs. Now, when working metal at a forge, it is vital that the heat not be too strong, or too weak, to achieve the perfect malleability of the metal. Brokk knew this, and so did Loki. Fearing that the dwarves may succeed, Loki decided to hinder them. Laying out a pigskin upon the hearth, Eitri began work with the gold, as Brokk held the bellows steady. The work went well, except that a gadfly flew in the open window, and bit Brokk on the hand, to the irritation of the dwarf. Soon, Eitri took out the new gift, a great boar made of gold - Gullinbursti. The fires of the forge roaring, Eitri laid fresh gold in the burning hearth, bidding Brokk keep up the blast of air from the bellows. The gadfly now settled upon the dwarven smith's neck, and bit down once again, yet Brokk endured the pain, faithfully working the bellows. Eitri returned and drew out from the fires a splendid gold ring, called Draupnir. Turning to the forge a final time, Eitri set iron in its heart, as he began work on a powerful weapon, a fitting gift for the god of war. Turning to his brother once again, Eitri warned Brokk that the work would be spoiled if the blast from the bellows failed. The dwarf's hammer rose and fell, and the gadfly returned. This time, it settled upon Brokk's eyelid, and bit down hard. A trickle of blood ran into Brokk's eye, causing the dwarf to twitch in agony, but still, the work was completed, and a majestic hammer rose from the forge - Mjöllnir, the famous weapon of Thor.

Valhalla
Painting by Max Brückner.

Brokk emerged from the forge laden with all six gifts, and made haste to Valhalla, the hall of Odin in Asgard, to present the gifts and settle the bet with Loki before the Aesir. To Odin was given the spear Gungnir, enchanted so that it would never miss and always kill. To Sif was given the radiant hair, which would grow to her head as soon as it came upon her flesh. To Freyr was given Skíðblaðnir, a ship which would always have a favourable breeze in its sail, and could be collapsed and folded so as to fit in the god's pouch. Now Brokk brought forth Eitri's gifts. To Odin was given the ring, enchanted that every ninth night, eight identical rings would be born from it. To Freyr was given Gullinbursti, a boar forged with expert dwarven skill of gold, which could run through sky and earth with a swiftness to match the finest horse, and the lustre of the metal was such that no cave would be too dark for Gullinbursti to find his way. The dwarf then turned to Thor. To the Thunderer he presented Mjöllnir, and showed the god its might:

          " Then he gave the hammer to Thor, and quothed that Thor might smite
             as hard as he desired, whatsoever might be before him, and the hammer
             would not fail; and if he cast it forth at a foe, never would it miss,

             and never would Mjöllnir fly forth so far that it would not return to his hand... "

                                     - BROKK PRESENTS MJÖLLNIR TO THOR

The Aesir looked on in marvel at these mighty gifts, decreeing Mjöllnir the envy of them all, most potent of weapons it was, and mighty new scourge of the Jötunn. Thus it was that Eitri's gift was considered greatest of all. Brokk turned to Loki, ready to claim the god's head in triumph. Loki however, was not so easily foiled. Loki took up Mjöllnir and pointed to the fore-haft of the weapon. It was just slightly shorter than would be most comfortable to Thor's hand. The gods suddenly noticed this flaw and murmered.

Brokk however, realised the trickster craft. The gadfly in the forge had been Loki all along, and when the blood had flowed within his eye, the split second distraction had cost him the perfection within the great hammer. The Aesir sympathised with the dwarf, knowing Loki's tricks. Brokk came forth for Loki's head, but the god attempted to flee. Brokk pleaded with Thor for help, who promptly grabbed hold of Loki. All hope of escape gone, Loki unleashed his final trickery. The dwarf could indeed take his head, as their agreement originally was, but that agreement had also said that the dwarf could not touch his neck. Brokk shouted with frustration, as it is not possible to sever a head without touching the neck. Taking a knife and string, Brokk sewed Loki's mouth shut, so that the god may never boast of his wit and utter deceit ever again. The Aesir all looked on and laughed at Loki. Unlike Thor, who learned from his humiliation, Loki was furious at the gods for their laughter, and ever thereafter swore revenge...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:
The Prose Edda: Norse Mythology (Penguin Classics)
(A fast paced, 'episodic' version well suited to casual reading)

United States

Penguin Classics:
The Prose Edda: Norse Mythology (Penguin Classics)
(A fast paced, 'episodic' version well suited to casual reading)

The Dreamtime

So far on our wanderings through the words of history, we have seen much that is old, from a previous era of existence. The lore of Greece, Rome, Egypt and India has indeed witnessed the rise and fall of many great powers since the ink was wet on their pages. Now we look to a culture that is truly ancient. Older than the pyramids, older than the first cities of Mesopotamia, older than the stories of the Greeks, and coming into existence forty thousand years before the first stone was laid upon the Seven Hills of Rome. This is a way of life which has truly endured the passage of time. This is the culture of the indigenous peoples of Australia.



Paintings of the Tjukurpa - The Dreamtime
Photograph taken by the author.

The stories, customs and languages of the indigenous Australians, called Aborigines by the Europeans, are as varied as the land they dwell in. Hardly surprising for an island one could fit almost all Europe inside. Yet all are united by a common, powerful link with the land itself, along with its flora and fauna. Stories are passed down from generation by spoken word, and have been so for thousands of years. Even within one people, the legends vary immensely. For me to write of the legends of Uluṟu (a Pitjantjatjara word of the Anangu people, known in English as Ayer's Rock), Australia's most famous landmark, would take a lifetime to detail its infinite variations. For this reason, I will write of just one, that told by the Anangu people, who have lived alongside the great rock since ancient times.

Uluṟu - born of the Dreamtime
Photograph taken by the author.

In a time before time, the world was a flat, barren and lifeless plain. No mountains burst forth to the skies, no rivers snaked through the land, no trees rustled in the winds, no birds soared in the clouds, no animal life was sustained by the land. It was an endless desert, serene in its tranquility. This was the Dreamtime. The 'Tjukurpa', The Anangu call it in the Pitjantjatjara language. Time came to pass once when the spirits of the Dreamtime stirred, rising from their earthly slumber. There was no name for the forms they assumed when they awoke, for each was different. Some were as men today, some as the mighty trees, some as the desert reptiles, some as docile creatures that man would one day hunt, yet some too of forms no living man today could name. For a time, the spirits were as men are today. They sat around fires, they took the new water from the land, they danced, they sang and they fought. The spirits undertook great journeys across the land, giving shape to the world as they traversed its vast plain. Where they made shelter, the mountains arose, where they dug their staffs into the plain, the trees rose, and where they ground their corn, great boulders were left behind. There was a time however, when the spirits grew violent. In the central desert, a great battle stained the land with its blood, and the Earth rose is grief. So was born Uluṟu.

The Mala Wati
Photograph taken by the author.

Many ages passed, when many of the old spirits had turned to stone over the passage of time. The men of today are their descendants, a living legacy of the continuum of the Dreamtime. There came a time when two boys, hunting in the desert plains, came across mighty Uluṟu. They saw the Mala People gathered around a rock hole on the northern face of Uluṟu, who were preparing some kind of ceremony. The two boys were curious, being not versed in the rites of men, and looked on. The Mala were preparing for the ceremony of the Inma, and planted a pole in Uluṟu. The next morning, strangers of another people appeared on the endless horizon. They were friendly and invited the Mala to their own Inma. All the things of the Mala people had to be done in the proper manner, be it hunting, collecting water or communicating. The Mala told the strangers from the West that they could not join their Inma, for they could not interrupt their ceremony. The strangers withdrew, furious at the insult to their hospitality. The Mala continued to prepare for the Inma, as some of their number searched for food at Taputji. A staff they used to dig for food can still be seen by men today, though it has long since become stone. Soon however, horror ensued. A vengeful spirit appeared on the horizon, bounding toward the Mala foragers. The spirit was as a great black hound - Kurpany. Kurpany pounced, slaying man, woman and child, staining the land once again with blood. The remains of the fallen Mala can still be seen today on Uluṟu, standing high above the plain on its northern face, called the Mala Wati.

Artilla - resting place of the two boys
Photograph taken by the author.

Whilst the Mala had been preparing the Inma, the two boys had been playing, mixing earth and water to create mud. Sliding down the south face of Uluṟu, they dragged their muddy fingers along the rock, leaving trails in their wake which can be seen by men today, though they have long since become stone. The two boys hid to avoid Kurpany's murderous wrath in the many clefts and gouges of Uluṟu, until the demon's bloodlust was sated at last. Terrified, the boys went out into the desert, desperate to seek water. Moving north, they came to the slopes of another great mountain, called today 'Artilla' by the Anangu (known in English as Mount Connor). In frustration, one of the boys hurled his club at a nearby wallaby. The club sailed past the animal, and embedded in the plain. But where it struck the land, water gurgled up from the subterranean realm. The boy was delighted at the new spring, and slaked his thirst. The other boy later asked where he had found the water they sought, but he refused to tell him, for the boy was selfish. In a rage, the other boy hurled himself upon his follower, and the two fought upon the slopes of the mountain, until they both were upon the summit. Collapsing to blood loss and thirst, the two boys died, and can still be seen today by men, though their bodies have long since become as stone...

The Dreamtime is one of the few stories shared as a common heritage between the indigenous peoples of Australia, and is arguably one of, if not the oldest story ever told. What followed the awakening of the spirits is never the same amongst the countless peoples, but this is the story according to the Anangu, who have preserved this tale for tens of thousands of human years...

The culture of the indigenous Australians is told through voice and not book, so the closest you can come to seeking the original thing is to travel to Australia and hear it for yourself, or see it painted upon the many rock faces which populate the continent. Here, however, are two quite good books available from Amazon which retell some of the aboriginal stories, the first being very nicely illustrated:

United Kingdom

Dreamtime Traditions
Voices of the First Day: Awakening in the Aboriginal Dreamtime (Inner Traditions)
(Very nicely illustrated, and bursting with content - recommended)

Aboriginal Mythology
Aboriginal Myths, Legends and Fables
(A different approach which tries to capture the 'campfire' nature of the stories)

United States

Dreamtime Traditions
Voices of the First Day: Awakening in the Aboriginal Dreamtime (Inner Traditions)
(Very nicely illustrated, and bursting with content - recommended)

Aboriginal Mythology
Aboriginal Myths, Legends and Fables
(A different approach which tries to capture the 'campfire' nature of the stories)