The Trident and the Spear

Every city which rises to greatness does so from humble beginnings. So high can a nation rise that so mythic can her origins seem. Every great thing, be it a nation, a person, even an idea, has to start somewhere. To our ancestors of old, greatness was a sure sign of favour from on high. For the hand of a god must surely have been at work when one of the most influential cities in human history, for better or worse, was born.

Athena
2nd century AD Roman bust  from Velletri

The Olympians had fought a terrible fight for mastery of the Cosmos. Their forefathers and creators of the Universe, the Titans had not yielded their divine grip easily. After so great a struggle, the harmony of the World was worth more than anything to the gods, even to Zeus the Thunderer, King of the gods and Lord of the Sky. Now fidelity was one thing that Zeus the Thunderer knew not, and many a hero of the ancient world owed his existence to the philandering adventures of the god of gods. It was little surprise therefore, when Zeus undertook a clandestine affair with the beautiful Titaness Metis. However, when the Fates prophesied that the child of Metis would be mightier in spirit and wiser in understanding than its father, Zeus the father of gods and men was convulsed with fear. Long ago, his father Kronos had heard similar words, with dire consequences. The Heavens had groaned under the Titanomachy, and could ill afford so ruinous a war for a second time. So Zeus the Thunderer decided on a little evil for a greater good. Weaving his divine powers of transfiguration, the shape of Metis he shifted to that of a common fly, and the god swallowed her whole, so that she may never give birth to this legendary child.

Time passed, but troubles did not for the Lord of Olympus. As the days grew late, a terrible pain struck the god inside. What began as an ache inside his royal head, soon swelled to a pounding agony that would not die. Time soon came when even the Thunder himself, conqueror of Typhon and Heaven could bear the torment no more, and summoned to his side Hephaestus, the god of the forge and weaver of fire. "Take up thy hammer and rend asunder this head that pains me so, lest this torture afflict me for all the ages to come", said Zeus. The lame god of the smith stood dumbstruck by this command - split open the head of Zeus? But the father of gods and men was inexorable, and irresistible. So Hephaestus took up his hammer and tongs, and with a mighty strike, he breached the Divine Crown. A roar of thunder and a flash of light rolled over the skies. Then, in a blur of speed an apparition appeared. From the fissures in the skull of Zeus there leapt a figure, strongly built yet distinctly feminine, agile yet fully armed, wise yet ready for war, a new goddess entered the cosmos. Athena, goddess of wisdom, mistress of stratagem, lady of the spear and patron of heroes.

Around this time, far below on the mortal plain, the tribes of Attica came together under their King, Cecrops. Born of Mother Earth herself, Cecrops taught the Atticans the still young arts of reading and writing, of literature, of burial and brought the institution of marriage to the tribesmen. Civilisation as we know it, was being born. Soon, however, the simple villages of Attica groaned under the advance of the people, and a new home was needed. Under the leadership of their vibrant King, the Atticans set off through the harsh landscape of Attica, where open plains give way to beaten rock. After a time they came to a place in the West, largely flat yet punctuated by towering pinnacles of rock. The sea lay yonder, yet wise Cecrops knew that to build their new city on the shore itself was too dangerous in an era of rampant piracy on the high seas. Away from the shore then, yet near enough for trade, the people set foot upon a mount with a commanding position over the plain and the sea. Here would be founded their new city, and grandiose would it be. But every new city needed a patron god, but who?

Poseidon
The Artemision Bronze

Word reached Olympus of the gathering under Cecrops upon the Mount. Just then,  the Fates declared that the city that would be founded upon that place would rise to a greatness rivalling the best of all Greece. Glory and honour would walk hand in hand to whomsoever should become her patron. A frenzy gripped Mount Olympus, and the all the divine array wondered. Two among them immediately took the floor. Athena, ever ready with sharpened word and thought, leapt to her newborn feet. But Poseidon, god of the sea, shaker of the earth and lord of horses, bowed to few. Even Zeus himself, King of all gods kept a close eye on his ambitious younger brother, for most vexed was Poseidon when he lost the Heavens in the division of the cosmos. Torn between loyalty to his brother, however unruly, and care for his daughter, despite the danger she posed as his successor, Zeus decreed that the people should decide the patron of their city. Immediately, the two deities spirited down from Olympus and made landfall upon the mountain. With a blinding flash and a roar of thunder, the people cowered at the sight of the divine array. Fearful lest they choose one over the other, the people knew not what to do. Cecrops their King, however, decided. Turning to his gods, he declared that the patronage of the new city would belong to the one who presented the greatest gift to it. Poseidon and Athena, uncle and niece, eyed each other, and readied their contest.

The Sea of Olives, Delphi
Photograph taken by the author

Both god and goddess, stood aside the towering pinnacles of the Acropolis, poised for the prize of glory. Poseidon, shaker of the Earth, took the first move. Raising his mighty Trident high into the air, with a rush of godly strength he plunged the three blades into the mountain side. A deafening rumble rippled across the Earth, and the people were thrown to the ground, terrified. There, where the central prong penetrated the summit (a place today commemorated by the Erechtheion), the wounded rock spat forth a spring of water thick with brine. The Emperor of all Oceans granted to the people the gift of the sea itself, and the assurance that one day they would master it. A fabulous gift indeed. Next the virgin goddess stepped forth. The eyes of Athena looked into the souls of all mortals present, and she senses their hopes and fears. Confident, and unyielding, the daughter of Zeus took up her spear and flung it into the mount. The people watched, entranced, for before their eyes the lance began to shift. The wooden shaft lengthened and broadened, from the blade branches sprang forth, rich with the bounty of its dark fruit. To the people Athena gave the gift of the humble olive tree. Poseidon looked on, bemused and anxious.

Athens at her height
Painting by Leo von Klenze

The primordial Athenians looked on the lowly sprig with wonder and amazement, as the goddess instilled some of her divine wisdom in their minds. Cecrops beckoned his people round to cast their vote. Poseidon's gift was mighty indeed, as was his promise. Mastery of the Ocean? 'Tis the dream of empires! A great destiny had been given to them. But that all looked a long way off to the primitive people, as they looked to and fro, and saw naught but barren rock. One citizen splashed some of the water over his face, and recoiled at its salty taste. The people turned to the sapling, Athena's gift. One fellow took a blackened grape from its boughs, and crushed it in his hands, and oil splashed across his palm. Into his mouth he tossed the olive and pleasing was its taste. Seeing the thick and robust trunk too, he saw the greatness of Athena's gift. Poseidon had given them a taste of great nations, but Athena had given them a source of food, of wood and oil, and something they could trade with others. The people sank to their knees with joy, and hurled themselves at the foot of Athena, daughter of Zeus and maiden of Olympus. Poseidon, god of the seas, was infuriated, but his niece had won the day. Cecrops declared Athena the one true patron of their new city. He declared that this place, the Acropolis, would ever be sacred to her. He declared too, that in her honour the city would be named. To the roar of approval from the first Athenians, he named the city. Athens, the glory of Athena...



United Kingdom

The Library of Mythology:
Library of Mythology
(A vast collection of the myths of old Greece, written in ancient times, and a great intro)

United States

The Library of Mythology:
Library of Mythology
(A vast collection of the myths of old Greece, written in ancient times, and a great intro)

Arachne

It is often falsely believed that our ancestors of the ancient world lived in slavish devotion to their gods, that they prayed daily, sacrificed often and repented frequently, and that the fate of nations lay in the words of Heaven. But like any other culture, there were rebels. Here is the story of one such rebel.

Arachne's admired craft
Fresco by Francesco del Cossa,
Palazzo Schifanoia, Ferrara

There once was a young maiden, skilled in craft. Sacred was her gift, profane her piety. "Low was her birth, and small her native town, she from her art alone obtain'd renown". Dead was her mother, a dyer of Tyrian purple, her father. Content in their small hamlet until Arachne's adolescent years, when the daughter first turned her hand to her immortal craft. Immensely skilled at the loom, the most dazzling displays of weaving were the maiden's forte, and it was not long before her fame began to spread far from her home. Across the plain word spread, over the hills and far through Lydia and beyond her legend grew. From the mortal to the immortal plain her name spread, and oft would the nymphs of the fountains, trees or hills take leave of their hiding places. From the golden rivers the Naiads came, all of them drawn by her legendary art. For the spirits of nature there was little finer that to observe the shapeless wool she wound with fluid motion on the spindle, as the masterpiece took slow but mighty shape. The goddess Minerva, weaver of the gods on high, was woven into every thread, yet scorned was the mistress by the maiden. Never once did Arachne honour the goddess nor reveal the source of her knowledge, neither praising nor cursing, pure and plain silence.

The Spinning Contest
Painting by Diege Velázquez

Upon Arachne Minerva bent her "vengeful mind", angered by the indifference of the maiden toward the gods gion high. "Let us, she cries, but to a trial come, and if she conquers, let her fix my doom". The goddess took the form of a woman bent with age, and came to the house of Arachne. Coming before the prodigal girl, the old woman declared "Young maid attend, nor stubbonly despise the admonitions of the old, and wise; for age, tho' scorn'd, a ripe experience bears". Her experience could lend the girl skill greater still, but only if she petition the gods on high, and pardon her bold presumption that she be greater than the gods. With temper fired Arachne rose, and to the veiled goddess she spoke. She despised the elderly counsel and her blasphemy grew. "If your skilful goddess better knows, let her accept the trial I propose!". "She does", wrathful Minerva replies, "and cloth'd with heavenly light, sprung from her disguise". The nymphs of the plains leapt back in fright, the ladies of hamlet trembled before the awe of divinity. Only the maiden stood unafraid, confident of her earthly, human talents. A brief blush in the cheek she allowed, but swiftly her composure regain'd. Across from each other the board was set, and the looms deployed, both ready to test their skills before the other, and all looked on in apprehension.


At once skilled fingers darted hither and thither across the mantle, human and inhuman, plying their trades as never before. Shining colours lit up the room, finest golds shimmering from the Minervan loom, royal purple from the maiden's mantle, gift of her father. Shades and light were wed on the wool, "as when a show'r transpierc'd with sunny rays, its mighty arch along the heav'n displays". Minerva the glories of the gods on high wove, high on Olympus on lofty thrones. Jupiter the subject, seated proud, and the centre of heaven and the centre of her loom. With awing majesty he all the rest excell'd, but there tood were woven his kin and those of heaven. There too was the hoary lord of the seas, Neptune the son of Saturn, wielding his three pronged trident high, ready to smite the jagged rocks, his steed the hippocampus ready for its master. There herself even, Minerva wove the very image of her own. Blazoning with glory, with glittering arms. With lavishly crested helm and braided hair, shining cuirass and shield resplendent, the image of the goddess stood poised, lance ready at the tilled earth. There the blade struck, and a towering olive blossomed into glorious life. Then, to warn the maiden Arachne,a  rival now, the goddess wove, and wove well. In all the corners four she wove a tale of mortals past, mortals who dared provoke the wrath of gods. In one there was spun Rhodope, King of the warlike Thracians who dared assume the titles of Jupiter, transfigured to a mountain for his pride. In the second corner there lay the image of the venomous Pigmaean dame, who dared profane Juno's holy name, now no more than a feathered crane. To the third Minerva's hands flew, whence the pride of young Antigone grew. Another to scorn the wife of Jove, with her self admired beauty she vyed with the Empress of the Skies. At last to the final corner Minerva flew, and there the image of weeping Cinyras drew. To crown it all at the centre stood, the mighty olive tree woven finer than any mortal could.

Arachne meanwhile chose triumphs of the divine, yet of a somewhat different kind. To the vices of on high she turned, and of the dalliances of Jove she wove. Through the rising surf and roaring tide, Zeus the Thunderer bore Europa upon his stride. Fearful of the ocean deep, up drew the feet of the maid, as though of Poseidon's domain she was afraid. Their too lay Leda a resplendent swan, for whom Jove could be the only one. Appear'd in a shower gold, came the god to Danaë's hold. To Neptune next the maiden turned her hand, casting the hypocrisy of heav'n across the land. Then upon a bursting scene, Arachne wove a valley pristine. Apollo next, roving through the plain, rousing song to banish all pain. Bacchus too could not escape his fate, as ever a slave to the accursed grape.

Minerva's Wrath
Painting by Rubens

All this the bright eyed goddess saw, and grew worried at the outcome of this war. Minerva was moved, great was her anger yet inwardly she approv'd. Magnificent was the maiden's taste, yet greater still Minerva's haste. The scenes she saw of heavenly vices made her wonder, but not before her wrath tore the loom asunder. Upon the terror struck maiden the goddess lunged from great height, retribution for her insubordinate spite. In fear and grief Arachne resolved, to be be of this life absolved. So Minerva watched as Arachne from the beam hung, pity rising as she swung. Calming now, the goddess her regret did announce, though swift was her judgement to pronounce:


     " Live, but depend, vile wretch, the goddess cried, doomed
       suspense forever to be tied; that all your race,
       to utmost date of time, may feel the vengeance, and detest the crime "
              - MINERVA'S CURSE


Turning to leave, Minerva upon the girl a potion poured, and before her eye's was Arachne's new body formed. Not two but eight legs now, the array wondered but knew not how. Her body a spider's now "from which she a thread gives, and still by constant weaving lives".

So came the spider into name, and how their family name 'Arachnid' became...


United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

The Flute and the Flayed

Ancient lore is ripe with tales of gods and monster, heroes and heroines and their wars, affairs and voyages. Oft is fate written in the stars, virtue praised and pride punished. When mortals rise above their stations, they are punished. But the divine powers are flawed too. Sometimes even the gods could go too far...

Athena
2nd Century AD Roman copy of a Greek original

Legend says that a long time ago, in the Golden Age of the Olympians and heroes, the goddess Athena, daughter of Zeus the Thunderer, was wandering in the sunny vales of the forest of Phrygia. The goddess' chaste ears pricked up at the sound of the birdsong in the breeze, a soothing accompaniment to the percussion of the rustling leaves. Filled with a peculiar joy, she was filled with a passion to make merry in the forest. Taking from the leaf strewn earth the bones of a young doe, the goddess fashioned from them a strange instrument. Whittling a series of pipes from the matter, she lashed them together and considered her new craft. With a modest intrigue, she placed the pipes to her mouth and blew. What a fair sound it was indeed; a soft vibration, a gentle melody and hypnotising note. Spurred on, bolstered by the music of the forest, the virgin goddess could scarcely put them down. Soon her absence was noted on the snowy peaks of lofty Olympus, and gossip flew to and fro, from scheming god and intrigued goddess. All too happy to share her new art, Athena proposed to show them all the sweet sounds at a lavish banquet in Heaven's Halls.


The eve came and the resplendent array of the skies awaited, fascinated by what was to come. When the moment came, the goblets were empty, the ambrosia consumed, the goddess rose to her feet. Brimming with excitement and nerves, she began to play. In the beginning, all was well, as the dulcet tune serenaded the divine array, and seldom were such sweet tones heard in the Palace of Olympus. Zeus the father of gods and men looked merrily on, proud of his daughter's talents. Hephaestus, master of the forge, sat entranced by the music so seldom heard in the roar of the furnace. Ares, lord of war, for whom the screams of the dying were oft his cadence, could scarce hide his delight. But it was then that the eyes of Pallas Athena saw Hera and Aphrodite. Far from listening with rapture, it was with a fits of laughter they returned her song. Though fair and noble, terrible could be the warrior maiden's fury. In anger she departed, seeking solace in the wilderness. When strolling the paths of the Forest of Ida, she stopped by a great pool of glassy water, her joy poisoned by doubt. She took up the pipes once more, and for the last time did she play. In the soft ripples of the water did she see her image cast, and within was held the revelation she sought. She had not noticed until now that as she played, she puffed her cheeks out proudly, their oft white complexion soon a crimson red. Frustrated by the immaturity of her fellow goddesses, with whom she bore a ruinous rivalry, she cast her creation aside. Laying upon the pipes a curse, she vowed calamity upon whomsoever should play them again. Woe that her malediction should have found a mark.

Marsyas in the Forest
Painting by Pyotr Basin

One day, when the memory of the pipes had passed into legend, there lived a shepherd who made Forest of Ida his serene home. His name was Marsyas the son of Oeagrus, and no man was he, but a Satyr. A servant of the god Bacchus, the Satyrs lived a merry life of revelry, dancing and song, frequently spreading havoc and drunken anarchy where their cloven feet trod. Marsyas, however, possessed a gentler spirit, preferring the solitude of the forest to the chaos of the plains. There came a day, however, that neither the Satyr nor the forest would ever forget. Stumbling upon a clearing in the thick canopy of the trees, where lay a crystal pool of ice cool water, Marsyas stopped to refresh. Throwing the pleasant water over his face, he gave a sigh of satisfaction, droplets from his tangled beard breaking the mirror like reflection of the surface. Turning to dry his face, however, he spotted a strange yet curious thing cast in the bushes at the water's edge. Stained with earth and covered in moss, it seemed a relic of an ancient past. Picking the strange object up, the Satyr, acquainted as all Satyrs are with the ways of merriment, realised at once that it bore the form of an instrument. Scraping aside the grime and muck, dousing it in the clear water, he saw the simple pipes in their fresh glory.


Tentatively, the Satyr put the pipes to his lips and blew. The note was rough, but charming. He blew again. Better, but a shade of the performance of the instruments original creator. For an age did Marsyas obsess over the pipes, unable to resist the allure he could not explain, the will to keep playing. Throughout the hours when the sun drenches the Earth did the Satyr practice anew, studious and assiduous. Day by day the Satyr's prowess grew, and with his talent came music sweeter than ever before. Birds began to perch upon nearby boughs, listening intently to Marsyas' song, the notes fairer even than their own. Creatures and being from far and wide began to marvel at the Satyr's song, but before long the curse began to manifest. Pride, the ruin of the great, wove its intoxicating spell in the Satyr's mind, as his humility could deflect the shower of praise no more. Time passed, and soon Marsyas declared himself a musician beyond compare in the world. The fatal hour arrived when the Satyr challenged Apollo, the god of music himself, to a contest.


High on Olympus, Apollo heard his challenge, and the god was angered by the daring of a mortal. Soaring down from the frozen summit, Phoebus Apollo came before Marsyas, and the admiring crowds scattered in fear and awe. Shaking with rage, Apollo declared the contest begun. The Muses, the spirits of the arts, were summoned to judge, and the terms were set. Whoever showed the greater mastery of music would triumph, and the victor won the right to treat the defeated as he pleased. Alas that Marsyas was deaf to the subtle warning that lay veiled within, as the curse brandished its edge, and the proud Satyr accepted. The stage was set. Marsyas took the pipes his beloved pipes, Apollo the lyre with which he was so skilled. The god played first. What ambience the grove had never known! With each pluck of the god's fingers upon the strings, soothed was the soul of all beings present, and the Muses sighed in awe of their master. When the god finished his piece, all gathered saw the end coming for the Satyr. But Marsyas, spurred on by the curse, boldly raised the pipes to his lips. With a jolt the gathered assembly was stunned into silence. With each honey soaked note, the very forest itself seemed to sing, vibrating with raw power. All earthly woes lay distant and forgotten for all mortals there that day, and warmed were the hearts of the Muses. Incensed by fire, alas, was the heart of Apollo. Just as the Satyr neared the boundary of the grove, victory near at hand, the god called to him. If the Satyr could play as he could now, Apollo would concede defeat. Intrigued, yet proud, Marsyas agreed. Without delay did the sun god spin his lyre around, striking a haunting melody, his instrument upside down. The Muses, delighted, applauded the god's performance, before turning to Marsyas, expectant. With a glint of malice in his eye, well did Apollo know that it was impossible to play the pipes upside down. Too late did the Satyr realise this too. His mouth went dry with terror, as the judges were struck with disappointment. To the son of Zeus was triumph assigned, and to the Satyr, ignoble defeat

Marsyas Flayed
Painting by Titian

Near dumbstruck, the Satyr watched helplessly as the god approached, vengeance that only a god could muster flaming in his eyes. Poor Marsyas searched for words but none could be found, none to quench the fire before him now. Hands grabbed him from all around, and terror flooded his veins. Thus was begun a punishment terrible to behold. Strapped to a nearby oak was the quivering Satyr, and tightly bound. The servants of Apollo seized their blades and descended upon poor Marsyas.







                  " 'Why do you tear me from myself, he cries?
                     Ah cruel! Must my flesh be made the prize?
                     This for a mere pipe?' He roaring said,
                     Meanwhile the skin from off his limbs were flay'd.
                     All bare, and raw, one large continu'd wound,
                     With streams of blood his body bath'd the ground.
                     The blueish veins their trembling pulse disclos'd,
                     The stringy nerves lay naked and expos'd;
                     His guts appear'd, distinctly each express'd,
                    With ev'ry shining fibre of his breast... "
                      - THE PUNISHMENT OF MARSYAS


His muffled screams were the last song of Marsyas, raw muscle and tendon bare to the elements now. Such was the justice of Apollo, so great the price of a mortal daring to raise himself above a god.

But not all beings shared Apollo's wrath. The fauns, silvans, nymphs, naiads and spirits of the forest, once serenaded by the Satyr's song, came to his mutilated corpse. Tears flowed from their eyes at their gaping loss, the knowledge that his pure song might never woo them again. It is said that even vengeful Apollo himself was later moved to regret, and not readily did he string his lyre in ages to come, remorseful of his act. "With their tears that flow'd, a kindly moisture on the earth bestow'd, that soon, conjoin'd, and in a body rang'd, sprung from the ground, to limpid water chang'd; which, down thro' Phrygia's rocks, a mighty stream, comes tumbling to the sea, and Marsya is its name..."

Like poor Actaeon before him, Marsyas felt the terrible fate of stumbling innocently in the path of a god. It was the folly of a fool to violate the laws of Heaven, but to challenge them openly, why only those blind to all other things would dice with such death. Nevertheless, even in the ancient world there were many who questioned the magnitude of poor Marsyas' punishment...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Cadmus

The beginning of things is always a moment enshrined in history. The greater the thing, the greater the myth, especially for those few who founded entire civilisations, for whom myth and history can be so closely intertwined as to be nigh on indistinguishable. One such hero was Cadmus.

The Rape of Europa
Painting by Titian

Far past, in the distant mists of time, there ruled over the great city of Tyre the King Agenor and his Queen Telephassa. Under their happy and benevolent rule Tyre rose to great heights, and the the Tyrians were blessed with a formidable progeny. To the royal family were born three sons; Phoenix, Cilix and Cadmus, and a daughter, Europa. Tyre rejoiced in the splendour of each of her heirs, each magnificent to behold and strong of heart. As the four grew up, the future seemed radiant for the great city. But it was not only man and woman who admired the majesty of these four, for they, as all things, could not escape the gaze of the Olympians on high. No mere nymph, dryad or spirit, but Zeus himself, King of the all gods, became enamoured of the young princess Europa. One sun drenched day, Europa danced merrily by the ocean's edge, under the Thunderer's watchful gaze. Transfixed by her beauty, Zeus came down to the Earth as a mighty white bull, of gleaming horns and glistening coat. Europa looked up, entranced at the majestic sight before her. Laying a fair hand upon the Bull's shining mane, in a bewitching trance she dared to mount its back. Gently, the Bull turned toward the surf, and sauntered into the waves. Triumphant, Zeus spirited her beyond the horizon, glorying in his prize, as the maiden held on, taken up in the thrill of adventure, as the land fell away behind her. Never again was she to be seen again on Tyrian shores.


When word reached King Agenor's ears of his daughter's flight, he was stricken with anguish. Summoning his three sons before him, he bade each search every coast far and wide, across the world, in search of Europa, unbeknownst to him that a god's hand was at work. With ready abandon did each brother set forth in search of his sister, three directions did they depart, and in three ways did they journey, and for an endless age did they go. To the South and West did Phoenix go, after time giving his name to the land of Phoenicia. To the North did Cilix go, after time giving his name to the land of Cilicia. To the West did young Cadmus go, landing soon upon Grecian shores. Time passed and the maiden could not be found, for what mortal can pursue the Thunder god himself? Weary from ageless toil, Cadmus decided to seek out the Oracle, and know her counsel. High upon the Delphic road he thus trod, with kindred Tyrians in tow, coming to the Pythian Halls. Intoxicated by the mists of prophecy, the Oracle thus did cry:


                      " Behold among the fields a lonely cow,
                        Unworn with yokes, unbroken to the plow;
                        Mark well the place where first she lays her down,
                        There measure out thy walls, and build thy town,
                        And from thy guide Boeotia call the land,
                        In which the destin'd walls and town shall stand... "      
                             - THE ORACLE SPEAKS TO CADMUS


The Prince of Tyre was taken aback by the command of Heaven. To find his sister was to be a destiny not his, it seemed, but as the founder of a nation. No sooner had he departed the towering sanctum, pondering deep his divine mission, than he spied in the fields that sacred cow, unshackled by rope or chain, unfitted with plow. The cow raised her head and saw the Prince of Tyre. Both looked into the eyes of the other for a brief moment, before the beast turned and trod. At a distance Cadmus stalked, in silence, praying to the god whose path he followed now. Through mountain high and plain wide Prince and beast continued their strange dance, crossing the silvery rapids of the river Cephisus, when all of a sudden, the cow raised her head to on high, bellowing thrice, before turning back to gaze at he, and laying in the grass. Cadmus saw the sign, and gave thanks to on high, thanks for his destiny, thanks for the nameless place, pastures and mountains which would be the land of his progeny. Turning to his kin, he bade them seek water with all haste from living streams, so as to prepare a sacrifice to Zeus the father of men and gods. So, over the wide plain his comrades trod, for their lay in a dark vale beyond a shady wood, its boughs hanging heavy over unlit grass, pathless and thick with brambles in the scrub.

Cadmus and the Dragon
Painting by Hendrick Goltzius

Yet Death incarnate lay in the darkness of the trees. For deep in the dank forest, sacred to Ares, lord of War, a powerful dragon lay, "bloated with poison to a monstrous size; fire broke in flashes when he glanc'd his eyes: his tow'ring crest was glorious to behold, his shoulders and his sides were scal'd with gold...". The Tyrians searched wide for water in the eerie glade, and with their vessels upturned, they gathered from the stream. From side to side their urns bounded, the ripples echoing deep into the infernal pond. Upon the the wyrms's crest they crashed, rousing the beast from evil slumber. Evil stirs, and with a hiss that shrivels the skin of the very sky, the dragon rose from the stagnant pool, his many tongues flickering, his many eyes darting to and fro. The Tyrians gave a shout of fear, their urns lying, shattered, discarded, upon the soil, now their grave. The dragon, towering high into the sky, then saw trembling men in his glade, and fell upon them in a rage. To their arms some Tyrians look, but in vain, to flight from the evil glade others. But no man there would breath the fresh air again, no man live to see the destiny of their prince. Some lie broken underfoot, others devoured by the monstrous creature, their final screams masked by the roar of the wyrm's ghastly breath.


The Sun began to rise into the warm, midday sky, and Cadmus began to wonder where his comrades had got to. Impatient to commence the rites the Olympians themselves had ordained him to do, the Prince of Tyre at once set forth to search for them, casting his eyes upon the fell glade in the distance, a place where the rays of the Sun never shone. The hide of a lion he wore around his muscled form, a raised spear in his hand, but a heart of valour was his greatest arm by far. Not long did he tread in the forest's eaves before the  broken bodies of his kin his eyes did spy, the monstrous beast in their midst, feasting upon his friends, gore spattering his jaw. In a shout of rage and grief, Cadmus heaved a mighty boulder, no ten men today could lift it, weak as men are now, and hurled it at the creature. The mightiest rock flung by the mightiest engine of war never had cast so mighty a payload at a towering wall, yet harmlessly did the stone deflect from the iron scales. His slumber disturbed a second time, the dragon seared with fury, and bore down upon the Prince of Tyre with thundering haste. Undaunted, the young Prince took up his spear, taking careful aim. The strength of the greatest of men, and beyond, he put into the throw, casting the dart into creature's spine. More success this time, as the iron tip burrowed between the scales, punching into the vile flesh. A screeching hiss the serpent wailed, sending eerie chill down Cadmus' spine. The powerful body writhed and turned, and monstrous teeth closed around the shaft of wood, splintering Tyrian spear. Pain feeding his building rage, the wyrm's eyes clouded a hideous red, hate pounding in every vein, as from his mouth a putrid gale blew, spraying a lethal foam about the clearing. Plant, flower and tree all wither under its hail, but not the Prince of Tyre. Uncoiling now, the monster lunges, a torrent of power. Desperate now, Cadmus seized the ruined spear, as the serpent's jaws clamped upon the point, mixing blood and venom raw. Not a moment to spare, the Prince dived behind a tree, as the mighty trunk deflects his foe's strike. Seizing his chance, Cadmus took the shattered point and thrust it will all his might and will to live, deep into the creature's throat. Labouring hard for breath, the accursed wyrm writhed in a final agony, crashing to the dust, lifeless as stone.

Cadmus sows the Dragon's Teeth
Painting by Maxfield Parrish

Not a moment did young Cadmus have to relish his triumph before a terrible voice roared throughout the dale, the voice of a god. "Why dost thou thus with secret pleasure see, insulting man! What thou thy self shalt be?" With horror chill did the Prince of Tyre realise, the voice of Ares, god of war himself, thundered all around, in anger at the slaying of his sacred beast. It was then that Athena, lady of wisdom, soared down from the Olympian heights, favouring the innocent Prince. Quickly, she bade him act, plow the field and scatter the teeth of the dragon as though the seed of a crop, for from them shall arise the people of his new city. Confused, but piously obedient, Cadmus obeyed. Plowing the field, and readying the seed, the Prince bent low over the wyrm's lethal teeth, wrenching them from the scaly cadaver:


       " He sows the teeth at Pallas' command,
         And flings the future people from his hand.
         The clods grow warm, and crumble where he sows;
         And now the pointed spears advance in rows;
         Now nodding plumes appear, and shining crests,
         Now the broad shoulders and the rising breasts;
         O'er all the field the breathing harvest swarms,
         A growing host, a crop of men and arms "
               - CADMUS SOWS THE DRAGON'S TEETH

To his utter amazement, the furrowed ground churned, and from the teeth of the dragon, fully armed and fierce men sprang. As the warlike men began to seek out their creator, Cadmus, wary of their bloodlust, cast a stone in their midst. It struck one of the men, who immediately rounded on his comrade to his rear, believing him to be the culprit, and struck him cold dead to the floor. Consternation broke out in the battalion of the Teeth, as brother turned against brother, and blood ran in torrents, the evil glad awash with gore anew.  Soon, all but five had been slain, and in that moment, Pallas Athena stayed their hands, and at her command, their arms to the ground did fall, as they embraced the way of peace. Before them now did the Prince of Tyre appear, and call each man his brother, and at last he set about the business of raising his great city. Thebes, the city would be called, and Cadmus her King, and the five men the fathers of the great noble families. Raising a high cliff in the city's heart, they named it for their founder, the Cadmeia (which you can visit today if you go to ancient Thebes), and thus began the days of Thebes, and the Royal House of Cadmus.

Long did Cadmus reign in peace, and to him the gods gave a wife, Harmonia, a symbol of new concordance between men and gods. Yet there was one in their midst who reeled with spite, proud Ares, his anger great still at the desecration of his sacred beast. Upon Cadmus and his progeny he placed a terrible curse. Ever after the Royal House of Thebes was plagued by misfortune. The grandson of Cadmus, Actaeon (whose own downfall you can read about here), and many generations later, his descendant Laius (whose fate you can read of here), father of Oedipus, would feel the curse's wrath. Many long years later, Cadmus ripe with age lamented the ill omens that plagued his family, raising his head to the Heavens. If the gods troubled so over the life of a serpent, he would rather be one himself than a mortal man. Upon him pity fell, and granted was his wish. Before his very eyes his skin was as scales, his teeth as fangs, his legs a whipping tail. His beloved Harmonia upon him gazed, imploring the gods to spare her pain of separation from him. To her too the gods gave their gift, and in a flash she too slithered upon the ground, freed from the evils of man and their ways forever...

What happened to Europa, you might ask? Zeus the Thunderer spirited her away to the island of Crete, and upon those radiant shores he revealed his true form. To the stars he flung his Bull like form, and the constellation Taurus was thus born. Upon Europa's head the crown of Crete the god did place, but greater still was to be her legacy. For even today the Continent of Europe bears her name...


United Kingdom

Metamorphoses:
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(The Source for many of the myths of ancient lore, written by a Roman poet)

United States

Metamorphoses:

Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(The Source for many of the myths of ancient lore, written by a Roman poet)

The Judgement of Paris

It is a curious thing how great the influence of one person can be on the course of history. Though they may not know it at the time, one person truly can make all the difference. The Trojan War, the most iconic of its kind in history, which forever bound the great civilisations of the West, and whose heroes are spoken of in awe even today, began because of one such person. But the War (whose story begins here) found its origins in the most unlikely of places...

The Marriage of Thetis and Peleus
Painting by Hendrick de Clerck

One day, far distant in the mists of time, high on the peaks of Mount Ida, there was great jubilation. It was a joyful day, for it saw the wedding of the nymph Thetis to Peleus, a marriage which held the blessings of the gods of Olympus. Great would be their progeny indeed, for one day their union would give birth to the mightiest of champions - Achilles, whose name the world would ever after speak of in reverence. Men, nymphs, gods, goddesses and all manner of magical creatures came from far and wide to celebrate, bearing a dazzling array of gifts to honour the happy day. Even Ares, lord of war, and Artemis, chaste maiden of the hunt, were to be seen in the great ensemble. All were euphoric, the skies rang to the sound of music, and not a sad face was to be seen amid the revelry. All, that was, except for one. For, skulking in the shadows, was the only being who had not received an invitation. Looking on in cold fury at her rejection, Eris, the goddess of discord, whose evil ways had ever left her shunned amid the spirits of the world, conspired to take her revenge, and bring cruel chaos down upon the scene before her now. As she circled in the shade of the trees, she cast her thoughts to how she could bring her malevolent influence to bear. Perhaps she could spread foul rumours amongst the guests? Poison the minds of the many against their gracious hosts? Openly denounce the bridal pair? There was a dark moment, when her rage waxed grave indeed, when she considered, for one brief moment, going to the very depths of the world, to the deepest part of the Underworld, and breaking asunder the Gates of Tartarus, and so releasing the Titans from their infernal bonds, to be unleashed once more upon the world. It was a fortunate thing indeed, that her fear was too great to carry out this dark deed. Instead, her thoughts turned to discord, that thing at which she was adept at spreading above all others.

Taking a Golden Apple from the Garden of the Hesperides (of the very same tree which Heracles had once ventured to, for the story, please click here), the vengeful goddess inscribed upon it "For the fairest". Never before or again would one sentence bring such ruinous calamity upon the world. Eris, proud of her stratagem, took careful aim, hurling the fruit into the midst of the dancing goddesses. All were amazed at the shining seed now before them, but none more so than three of the greatest goddesses - Hera, Queen of the gods, Athena, goddess of wisdom and war and Aphrodite, goddess of lust. From the moment they set eyes upon it, each goddess claimed the Apple for their own. As discord and argument soon spread as to who should rightfully bear the fruit, the three goddesses turned to Zeus, King of all the gods, to judge himself. Knowing well the undying wrath he would earn from the two he did not choose, the Thunderer wisely refused. To a mortal man should fall this mighty burden, the god ruled, as he thought to himself who this soul could be.

There was, not far away on the slopes of Mount Ida, a young man tending his flocks as a faithful shepherd. But this man was no ordinary shepherd. Named Paris, he was an exile of royal blood, cast out of his homeland whilst still a baby. For long ago, the boy's mother, Queen Hecuba of the royal house of Troy, had experienced a terrible nightmare. Just before her son's birth, she saw a vision that she would give birth to a flaming torch. When she awoke with a start, she confided in her husband, King Priam. Priam decided to consult an Oracle as to what this strange portent could mean. The seer Aesacus, when the royal couple retold their worries to him, was gripped with anguish. The child that the Queen would soon bear, the prophet declared, would be the ruin of Troy. The seer urged them to kill the child as soon as it was born, and save Troy from her doom. The day came, however, when Paris entered the world, and from the moment Hecuba and Priam looked upon him, they could bring no harm upon their own flesh and blood. Despairing, Priam handed the child over to Agelaus, his chief herdsmen, to take him away. The shepherd took the young Paris far from Troy's towering heights, but as a he too looked upon the baby, he found that he could not bring himself to slay a child. Vowing to raise the child as his own, he took Paris into his care, where the two lived happily, with a simple life upon the slopes of Mount Ida. It was to Paris that the goddesses of Olympus came now, forever to change his destiny, and that of the world.

The Judgement of Paris
Painting by Rubens

It was with great fear that Paris beheld the sight of Hermes, messenger of the gods, bearing down upon him on that fateful day. " Fling away thy milking-pail and leave thy fair flocks and come hither and give decision as judge of the goddesses of heaven. Come hither and decide which is the more excellent beauty of face, and to the fairer give this apple’s lovely fruit ", the swift footed god declared. Paris stood, transfixed, hardly daring to question, even less refuse the command of Olympus. In a flash of blazing glory, the three goddesses appeared suddenly before him, in all their divine majesty. One by one, the goddesses approached, Athena, lady of war and wisdom first:

          " Come hither, son of Priam! leave the spouse of Zeus and heed not Aphrodite,
            queen of the bridal bower, but praise thou Athena who aids the prowess of men.
            They say that thou art a king and keepest the city of Troy. Come hither,
            and I will make thee the saviour of their city to men hard pressed:
            lest ever Enyo of grievous wrath weigh heavily upon thee.
            Hearken to me and I will teach thee war and prowess! "

Then came Hera, regal mistress of Olympus:

         " If thou wilt elect me and bestow on me the fruit of the fairer,
           I will make thee lord of all mine Asia. Scorn thou the works of battle.
           What has a king to do with war? A prince gives command both to the valiant
           and to the unwarlike. Not always are the squires of Athena foremost.
           Swift is the doom and death of the servants of Enyo! "

Finally, there stood Aphrodite, folly of all men, who simply looked Paris in the eyes, smiling, as she began to speak:

      " Accept me and forget wars: take my beauty and leave the sceptre
         and the land of Asia. I know not the works of battle.
         What has Aphrodite to do with shields? By beauty much more do women excel.
         In place of manly prowess I will give thee a lovely bride, and, instead of kingship,
         enter thou the bed of Helen. Lacedaemon, after Troy, shall see thee a bridegroom! "

Helen
Painting by Evelyn de Morgan

Little did Paris, or the other deities assembled know, that Aphrodite wore a girdle infused with a powerful enchantment. No man which looked upon its wearer could resist base temptation. Still did the words flow from Aphrodite as the son of Priam already offered the Apple to her. Triumphant, Aphrodite raised her glittering prize, mocking her competitors mercilessly. Athena was angered, but it was nothing compared with the fury of Hera. For from this moment the House of Troy and all her descendants had made an eternal enemy of the goddess, and her curse would plague the destiny of the Trojan race. Aphrodite turned to Paris, placing her blessing upon him, declaring that he had the heart of the most beautiful woman in the world. Her name was Helen. With this promise, the goddesses departed, leaving Paris severely shaken. All he could think of now was Helen, far away in the distant lands of Greece. Unable to turn his thoughts anywhere but to her, he resolved to seek her out. Little could he know now the whole world of pain that this decision would unleash...




United Kingdom

Colluthus:
Oppian. Colluthus. Tryphiodorus (Loeb Classical Library)
(The most poetic, and best preserved form of the story)

Colluthus:
http://www.theoi.com/Text/Colluthus.html
(A sample available to read online)

United States

Colluthus:
Oppian, Colluthus, Tryphiodorus (Loeb Classical Library No. 219)
(The most poetic, and best preserved form of the story)

Colluthus:
http://www.theoi.com/Text/Colluthus.html
(A sample available to read online)

Hector and Achilles

We return today to the thick of the action, as the Trojan War reaches its climactic showdown, culminating in the most legendary confrontation in history - the duel of Hector and Achilles. The end was coming. For ten long years Greeks and Trojans have fallen in their tens and their thousands. For ten long years the mightiest heroes have been hurled to the House of Death. For ten long years strong walled Troy has weathered the storm, Prince Hector standing valiantly between the endless ranks of Greece and the city itself...

Andromache bids farewell to Hector
Painting by Anton Pavlovich Losenko

But the tide has turned, with the slaying of Patroclus, Achilles' own cousin, Hector had sealed the Fates. Now, Greek hordes pour across the great plain of Troy, a lone figure far in front, driven mad with rage. The goddess Athena herself at his side, Achilles thunders across the plain, with Trojan battalion and Trojan god alike blasted from his path. The war has divided even great Olympus itself, with gods and goddesses torn in their loyalties, with many of their own children fighting on both sides. But now not even Ares, the god of war himself, can stand in the way of Fate. Hurling a vast boulder at the god, Athena brings murderous Ares crashing to the ground, Troy's greatest ally at last lying broken in the dust. His glittering form, bearing the armour forged by Hephaestus (for this story, please click here), god of fire and the forge himself, Achilles has no mercy for the sons of Troy, as their blood spatters his magnificent cuirass. Trojans flee in blind terror before the onslaught, desperately seeking the safety of the city, with but one man, Prince Hector, boldly facing down the coming doom. High on Troy's unbreakable walls and wizened with age, King Priam eyes the chaos of the field in despair. Calling his people back inside the walls with urgency, he sees another proud son of Troy rush to confront the carnage. Brave Agenor, another noble soul, incensed at the reversal of Troy's fortune, charges Achilles down. Barely days ago the Greeks were pinned against the beach, desperate, all hope seeming lost, as Hector even burned the first of their ships, and now Fortune had cast Troy a deadly hand. Taunting Achilles for his audacity, Agenor hurls his spear at the golden figure. His aim was true, as the deadly point soared straight at the son of Peleus' thigh. But no! A resounding clang rang out as the gleaming gifts of Hephaestus held true. Achilles' turn, but he is denied his prey, as Lord Apollo, god of the sun deflects his throw. The god spirits Agenor away, defiant against the turns of Fate. Achilles makes hot pursuit, bellowing threats at the god, oblivious to the fact that no man can slay a god.

Hector and Achilles
Painting by Rubens

As the wrathful hero clad in gold bears down upon Troy's gates with irresistible force, King Priam cries out to his son in vain. Having watched so many of his sons slain by Achilles' hands, he cannot bear to watch his favourite fall. Pleading with Hector to retreat within the walls, Priam's shouts are in vain. Moved to deranged grief at the coming judgement, the King of Troy tears his hair out in anguish, his Queen leading the women of Troy in a chorus of tears. But Hector is unmoved. To retreat now and enter the city, why he would die of shame, and disgrace would be heaped upon him. He considers for a moment, a fleeting thought, that maybe he could simply give Helen up to the Greeks, and hand over the riches of Troy to Agamemnon and Menelaus, the sons of Atreus (and grandsons of Pelops, whose story is told here). But no, Achilles will never see mercy, so bent on destruction is he. Any chance to end this war through words has gone, only death can bring that now. Hector, for a moment, cast his thoughts back to the peaceful days:


                                 " But Achilles was closing on him now
                                   like the god of war, the fighter's helmet flashing,
                                   over his right shoulder shaking the Pelian ash spear,
                                   that terror, and the bronze around his body flared
                                   like a raging fire or the rising, blazing sun... "
                                                        - THE HOUR OF HECTOR APPROACHES           

As the sun shone on the glorious arms of the gods bound to Achilles' form,  and the favour of the gods was arrayed against him, the spirit of Hector broke. Overcome with a human fear, a fear for life, Troy's last hope ran, desperate to push back the moment of his doom. Mighty Achilles, however, was relentless, tearing after Hector all the way, never letting up. Three times around the walls of Troy they ran, all eyes fixed upon them, the eyes of gods and men. High on Olympus Zeus the Thunderer looked down in pity at Hector's plight. Adamant, Zeus demands the gods decide once and for all what is to be Hector's fate, shall he be spared from the hand of Death this day, or will Achilles strike him down at last? The King of the Gods wishes greatly to spare Hector, but Athena protests, as if Zeus goes against the will of the Fates, the gods will no longer be loyal to him. Resigned to the coming end, Zeus bids Athena go forth and do as she feels is right, powerless to intervene as he is this time.

The Body of Hector
Painting by Jacques-Louis David

Far below on the Dardan Plain, as the two heroes reach the Gates of Troy for the fourth time, the hour as come. For all the gods to see, Zeus holds out his scales of gold, and within he placed the fates of both men, one for Hector the Prince of Troy and one for mighty Achilles. As the Thunderer raised them high, down fell the fate of Priam's son. As Zeus commanded Apollo to stand down, and all gods loyal to Troy to pull back from the field, Athena triumphantly soared down to Hector's side, and in her cunning took the shape of Deiphobus, another of Priam's sons. Warmed by the sight of his dear brother, the deceived Prince of Troy is heartened that he is no longer alone, blind as he is to the goddess's schemes. Athena speaks with the voice of Deiphobus, and sows fresh courage in Hector's heart, the valour which once broke the lines of Greece. Shouting in defiance of the Fates, Hector turns and faces his enemy boldly. Offering a pact to fierce Achilles, that the victor will return the defeated body of his foe to his friends, and not allow it to be the sport of crows and dogs, Hector appeals one last time to Achilles' mercy, but:


                             " A swift dark glance
                               and the headstrong runner answered, 'Hector, stop!
                               You unforgivable, you... talk not of pacts to me.
                               There are no binding oaths between lions and men..."
                                                    - ACHILLES TO HECTOR

Achilles Triumphant
Painting by Franz Matsch

All words spent, the hour of battle had come. With a godly throw, Achilles cast his deadly spear at the Prince of Troy. Ducking barely in time, Hector was spared the Hand of Death, as the bronze point pierced the ground. Unperturbed, Athena wrenched the weapon from the Earth and returned it to Achilles, hidden from Hector's eyes. Courage building, Hector is elated, if Achilles can miss, perhaps there is hope? For the countless thousands of Troy's sons whose blood stains the Earth now, Hector marshalled all his strength and hurled his own lance, its murderous point soaring through the air. A direct hit! But woe, though the spear struck the Shield of Achilles' dead centre, the craft of Hephaestus was not so easily undone. Not for the first time, with a deafening clang did a spear spin off the armour of Achilles. His strength sapped by his throw, Hector railed with frustration, shouting out to loyal Deiphobus to pass him another spear. But Deiphobus was no longer there, and Hector realised the trickery deployed against him. Embracing his fate at last, the noble Prince of Troy roared, "So now I meet my doom. Well let me die, but not without a struggle, not without glory, no, in some great clash of arms that even men to come will hear of down the years!"

With one last burst of glory, Hector took his sword from his side and lunged at Achilles, as an eagle which has seen its prey high up in the sky soars down to its hapless quarry. With a shout of rage, Achilles dived too, the rays of the sun falling upon his metalled form, as though the hero was aflame. Since Hector wore the armour that Achilles himself once wore, before it was torn from the lifeless form of Patroclus, Achilles' aim was true. With all his might Achilles drove his spear through Hector's throat, as the Prince of Troy at last fell broken to the dust. His lifeblood gushing from his wound, Hector gasped for breath, struggling against approaching Death. With his last efforts, he implores Achilles to give his body to Troy. But no, Achilles, inhuman with anger, savagely taunts the fallen Prince with what is to come. As the darkness begins to fall over Hector's eyes, and he at last begins to know peace, he calls down one last curse upon his conqueror, foretelling Achilles own demise will come, as soon he will join him in the House of Death. As the spirit of Hector is borne to the Underworld, the Greeks explode with shouts of triumph, as Achilles tears the armour from Hector's back. His foe's death alone unable to sate his rage, Achilles pierced Hector's ankles, threading a leather strap through them and binding them to his chariot. With a lash of his whip, Achilles charges around the walls of Troy, the lifeless Prince dragging over the harsh ground, with the eyes of all Troy on this outrage...

As the most famous duel in history, the final confrontation of Hector and Achilles is as legendary today as it ever was in ancient times. The poem which tells its story is one worthy of the epic events themselves. You can find it and read it (and trust me, its worth it) in the Iliad, one of the earliest surviving works of literature in the West. For over 15,000 lines of some of the greatest poetry ever written, for the price of a cinema ticket, you can get it easily of Amazon:

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:
The Iliad (Penguin Classics)
(A translation which retains much of the poetic meter, and my personal recommendation)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Iliad (Oxford World's Classics)
(A translation which forgoes some of the poetic epithets, more suitable for the casual reader)

United States

Penguin Classics:
The Iliad (Penguin Classics)
(A translation which retains much of the poetic meter, and my personal recommendation)

Oxford World's Classics:
Iliad (Worlds Classics)
(A translation which forgoes some of the poetic epithets, more suitable for the casual reader)

Girdle, Giant and Garden

Having conquered some of the mightiest beasts to walk the earth, and weary from years of toil, it was with bewilderment that Heracles pondered what could possibly come next, on his long journey to immortality. Slaying the Lion of Nemea, the Hydra of Lernaea, the Birds of Stymphalos, capturing the Hind of Cerynaia, the Boar of Erymanthos, the Bull of Crete and the carnivorous Mares of Diomedes, and cleaning the vile stables of King Augeias, the list of Heracles' achievements was already impressive (for the previous episode in this sage, please click here). Eight down, just four more tasks stood between the son of Zeus and his place on Mount Olympus itself.

The Amazons

Painting by Theodor Baierl.

Free of the diabolical horses that had slain his friend, Heracles came before King Eurystheus once again in his strong walled citadel of Tiryns. Growing desperate, Eurystheus agonised to discover some feat that would beyond even the son of Zeus. Deciding to begin sending the hero far beyond the borderlands of Greece, the King began to grow ever more ambitious in his schemes. For his next Labour, Eurystheus charged Heracles to seek out the Girdle of Hippolyta, and bring it to him. But neither Girdle nor lady was ordinary. For Hippolyta was the Queen of the Amazons, a feared race from the distant steppes of Sarmatia. The Amazons, a tribe of entirely women, could not have been more different from the women of Greece. Largely hidden from public view, and guardians of the household, the women of Greece contrasted violently with the fierce warrior women that were the Amazons. Training constantly in the arts of war, women of the Amazon tribe were forbidden to marry until they had slain a man in war. It was even rumoured that Amazon women ritually severed their right breast so as not to hinder their use of the javelin and the bow. Hippolyta had been presented with her magic Girdle by Ares, the war god himself. It was with a large company of armed men that Heracles set forth from mighty Tiryns this time. After a long voyage across the Oceans, sailing beyond the Aegean to the farthest reaches of the Black Sea, the son of Zeus made landfall upon the beaches of Themiscyra. The Amazons were already there, along with their Queen. The legend of Heracles defeat of so many beasts however, appeared to have spread. Respectful of the hero's prowess, Hippolyta received Heracles kindly, approaching him directly on the beach. Charmed by his might, Hippolyta even agreed to hand over her Girdle, much to Heracles delight. The rest of the Amazons, however, further up the beach, watched intently, unsure of what was transpiring. Far away, on the heights of Mount Olympus, Hera, Queen of the Gods, looked on in fury that Heracles had succeeded so easily. Soaring down to the Earth, the goddess took the form of an Amazon maiden. Walking amongst the fierce women, she suddenly cried out that Heracles had come to abduct their Queen, and brought only death. Confusion rippled through both sides. The Amazons remembered all too well how another Greek hero had once abducted their Queen, and seized their arms and hurled themselves upon Heracles and his kin. Heracles, utterly confused, believed Hippolyta's approach to have been a ruse all along, violently turned upon the Queen. Delighted at the chaos she had caused, Hera returned to the Heavens to watch events unfold. Taken aback by the ferocity of the Amazons, Greeks began to fall one by one. In his rage, Heracles turned his arms upon the Amazon Queen, brutally slaying her, and tearing the Girdle from her lifeless form. Raising his war cry, the son of Zeus slammed into the Amazon ranks. Cowed by such a formidable opponent, the Amazons fled before his rampage. Seizing their chance, the battered and bloodied surviving Greeks desperately pushed away from the shore.

Heracles and Geryon
Image from a 6th century BC Etruscan vase.

Limping back to Tiryns, the Greek party returned to Eurystheus, and Heracles handed over the Girdle. Relieved to see that the hero was not completely invincible yet, the King at once issued forth a new challenge. Eurystheus commanded Heracles to bring to him the cattle of Geryon from the island of Erytheia. Far away at the mouth of edges of the Ocean, Erytheia lay off the coast of the Southern tip of Iberia. Travelling across Europe, and crossing to Africa, Heracles began the long journey through the deserts of Libya. Beaten down by the burning heat of the Sun, in frustration, the son of Zeus fired an arrow at the Sun itself. So impressed at his audacity, the Sun god himself came before Heracles and offered to speed him on his way, granting him a special vessel. Eventually reaching the boundaries of the known world, Heracles marked this achievement by raising two monumental pillars, one on the most southerly plateau in Iberia, and the other on the most northerly plateau in Africa. The 'Pillars of Hercules' still stand today, guarding the pass from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic. Coming to Geryon's domain, the hero's presence was at once detected by Orthus, the guardian of Geryon's cattle. Being a monstrous, two headed dog, and one of the dread offspring of Typhon and Echidna (for more on these, the most fearsome monsters on Greek Mythology, please click here), Orthus was no ordinary shepherding dog. A demonic hound, Orthus charged Heracles down on sight. Drawing his mighty club, Heracles managed to bring Orthus down with a mighty strike to the beast's two skulls. More herdsmen came, attracted by the din of fighting. Slaying them all, Heracles found the cattle and seized them, herding them towards his ship. Distracted by the cattle, Heracles was unaware that he had been spotted by Geryon himself. Hearing a shout of rage from behind him that would break the spirit of lesser men, the hero turned at the last moment to a terrifying sight. Geryon was no normal, mortal man. A monster, triple bodied and triple headed, and fully armed and armoured, Geryon was a formidable opponent. With three spears and three shields flurrying, Geryon engaged Heracles in a fierce struggle. Unable to land a blow upon the monster, Heracles struggled to defend himself. Casting aside his club in desperation, Heracles took out his bow. As Geryon charged forward, Heracles ripped back his bowstring with all the strength his divine sinews could muster, and loosed an arrow. Flying with overpowering momentum, Heracles fired the arrow with such force that the tip bore straight through the metal, skin, bone and brain of one of Geryon's three heads. Even this alone would not have brought mighty Geryon down, but the lethal venom of the Hydra which impregnated the iron tip of Heracles' arrow coursed through Geryon's body, strangling the life out of him. Shaken by his ever closer brush with death, Heracles embarked upon the long voyage back to Tiryns.

The Garden of the Hesperides

Painting by Frederic Leighton.

Handing the cattle over to Eurystheus, the son of Zeus stood eagerly to hear his penultimate task. Having served Eurystheus for eight long years now, the end was in sight. Ten incredible tasks had been completed, but Eurystheus had rendered the slaying of the Hydra and the cleaning of the Augeian stables void, and as punishment, had conceived two special tasks as the final tests of the hero. It was time for the son of Zeus to rise above the tasks of mortals now, and prove himself in the immortal plain. For the first of these two Labours, King Eurystheus ordered Heracles to bring him the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. The tree on which the Apples grew lay far away in the Garden of the Hesperides, a tranquil land ruled over by the Hesperides, nymphs who were the daughters of the Atlas, one of the Titans who had fought against Zeus in the War of the Titans (for this climactic struggle, please click here).The Golden Apples had been presented by Gaia, Mother Earth herself, at the marriage of Zeus and Hera untold milennia ago. To pick the Apples would truly demonstrate immortal favour. Venturing forth from Tiryns, Heracles travelled far and wide, yearning for the knowledge of the Garden's whereabouts. Guided by the nymphs, Heracles came across Nereus, the Old Man of the Sea, a shapeshifting Titan, and a son of Gaia. Seizing Nereus, Heracles held on tight whilst the Titan changed forms repeatedly, becoming all manner of nightmarish creatures. Binding him tightly, Heracles refused to release him until he revealed the Garden's location. Impressed at Heracles endurance, Nereus revealed that the daughters of Atlas tended the Garden of the Hesperides in the far West (Hence the name of the mountain range in North West Africa). Eventually coming to the garden, Heracles saw the magnificent tree in the distance of the serene paradise. However, tightly coiled around the trunk was a large and monstrous dragon, Ladon, immortal, invulnerable, never sleeping and always watchful from each of its one hundred heads. Ladon, another of the vile brood of Typhon and Echidna, had been placed in the Garden by Hera to ensure that none could ever steal the Apples. Realising for the first time that he had encountered a creature he could not stand against, Heracles began a long search for some other way.

In his frustrated wanderings, Heracles came to a great mountain, upon which was bound one of the Titans, one tortured by an eagle which gnawed at his liver - Prometheus (for his story, please click here). Pitying towering Prometheus, Heracles slew the eagle with one of his poisoned arrows, and released the Titan from his shackles. The greatful Titan, ever striving to assist mankind, advised Heracles to seek out his brother Atlas to obtain the Apples for him. Journeying into the very boundaries of existence, Heracles came before Atlas. The Titan, who had sided against Zeus in the war for the mastery of the Heavens, was punished to bear the weight of Heaven upon his shoulders for all eternity. Heracles asked Atlas permission to take the Apples from his daughters' Garden. The Titan agreed, and offered to pick them himself, in return for Heracles taking the weight of the Heavens for a short time. This he did, and towering Atlas set forth, whilst Heracles struggled under the mighty weight of Heaven upon his shoulders. Atlas soon returned with the Apples. Having no intention of enduring his punishment any longer, Atlas declared he would take the Apples to Eurystheus himself. Panicking, Heracles quickly conceived a desperate plan. Pretending to agree, Heracles asked if Atlas would take the weight briefly so as to allow him to prepare a pad to ease his shoulder when he took it back again. This seemed reasonable to the Titan, and he agreed. As the mighty Titan took up his colossal burden once more, Heracles quickly seized the Apples and made his escape, to the fury of Atlas.

Returning all the way to the powerful citadel of Tiryns, Heracles presented the shining Apples to Eurystheus. The King was overwhelmed by the sight of the gift, returning them to Heracles, worthy of the prize was he. No sooner had he done so, however, than Athena came down from Olympus, and retrieved the Apples, for they were too pure to reside anywhere than in the tranquil Garden. His resentment turning to reverence, Eurystheus turned to his final request, the last and most dangerous Labour of Hercules. If the hero completed this, then he would fulfil his ultimate desire, and earn his place among the gods...

United Kingdom

The Library of Greek Mythology:

The Library of Greek Mythology (Oxford World's Classics)

(A vast collection of stories from old Greece, written and compiled in ancient times)

United States

The Library of Greek Mythology:

The Library of Greek Mythology (Oxford World's Classics)

(A vast collection of stories from old Greece, written and compiled in ancient times)