Wrath of the Gods Page #16

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to show you the profile of the sleeping godly infant.

You click your way into this scene and suddenly you can’t

see anymore. You’ll need the carrot from the Firewood scene

(page 87). Eating it lights the scene dimly and you can proceed.

Orpheus and Eurydice

HADES CATACOMB WITH ASCENDING PATH. Orpheus

(ORE-fee-us) had been taught to play the lyre by Apollo

(uh-POL-oh), and such was his skill on the instrument,

together with the sweetness of his singing voice, that he

could charm wild animals and even cause trees to uproot

themselves and follow in his steps. Jason and the Argonauts

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took him along when they quested after the Golden Fleece,

and Orpheus saved them from shipwreck by drowning out

the treacherously alluring voices of the Sirens with his own

musical stylings.

Orpheus fell in love with a nymph (NIMF) named Eurydice

(yoo-RID-i-see) and blissful was their life together until one

day she was pursued by a son of Apollo, the minor deity

Aristaeus (air-is-TEE-us). In her headlong eagerness to escape,

she stepped on a poisonous snake, was bitten, and died.

Disconsolate, Orpheus found a cave which led to Hades

and followed Eurydice to the Underworld. Here his musical

charms were so persuasive that the King of the Dead

permitted the minstrel to take his sweetheart home with

him—on one condition.

This condition was so simple that it takes some explaining

to account for Orpheus’s failure to heed it. Perhaps he

could not bear to keep his eyes off their beloved object for

a moment longer. Perhaps he wanted to share his rapture

at bird song and sunshine as they approached the mouth of

the cave. Or maybe he wanted Eurydice to hear the latest

lick that he had worked out on his lyre. In any case, he did

the one thing he had been forbidden. He turned around and

looked at Eurydice, and she was lost to him forever.

Orpheus swore he would never love another, and it may

have been the steadfastness of this vow that caused certain

wild women of Thrace to tear him limb from limb in a fit

of jealousy. They threw his head into a river, and it kept on

singing all the way to the sea.

When you enter this scene, a conversation is in progress.

EURIDICE:

Just remember, Orpheus dear, Hades said you

could take me with you to the land of the living

on one condition. You must not look back.

ORPHEUS:

(looking back over his shoulder)

What was that, honey?

Euridice vanishes. Orpheus reacts in horror. Talking to him

has no effect—he’s frozen in despair. You can proceed past

him and up the spiral ramp and out of the scene. You can

also take his lyre before you go.

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HADES CATACOMB. It was the custom in early Greek

historical times for the younger sons of noble houses to

embark, in the fine sailing months of autumn, upon the

honorable occupation of piracy. When Theseus (THEE-seeus)

received word that one such pirate and his crew were

making off with the royal Athenian herds at Marathon, he

raced to the seaside plain. He grabbed the miscreant by the

scruff and spun him around to give him what for. But the

moment king and pirate laid eyes upon one another, their

enmity was forgotten.

“You’ve caught me fair and square,” said Peirithoüs (pye-

RITH-oh-us), for this was the pirate’s name, and he was of the

royal house of the Thessalian Lapiths (the-SAY-lee-un LAP-iths).

“Name your punishment and it shall be done,” said he, “for

I like the looks of you.”

The admiration being mutual, Theseus named as penance

an oath of perpetual friendship, and the two clasped hands

upon it. And so, in the fullness of time, when Theseus

decided to carry off young Helen of Sparta, Peirithoüs

agreed to lend a hand. This was the same Helen whose face

would “launch a thousand ships” when, as Helen of Troy,

the lover and captive of the Trojan Paris, she caused the allies

of her husband Menelaus (men-uh-LAY-us) to wage the Trojan

War to bring her home.

At the time of Theseus’s contemplated abduction, however,

she was a mere lass of thirteen. And Theseus, having

succeeded in spiriting her off with Peirithoüs’s assistance, left

Theseus

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her with his mother for safekeeping while he went about his

business and she grew of marriageable age. But before this

had come to pass she was rescued by her brothers, the hero

twins, Castor (CASS-ter) and Pollux (POL-uks), whose conjoined

starry constellation still brightens the night sky between

fellow heroes Orion (oh-RYE-un) and Perseus (PUR-see-us).

One day not long after this escapade, Peirithoüs drew

Theseus aside and spoke to him earnestly. “Remember when

I agreed to help you with Helen?” he inquired, “and you

pledged to help me in turn in any little outing of a similar

nature?”

Theseus nodded and muttered yes.

“Good,” responded Peirithoüs. “Spoken like a true pal. Well,

I’ve picked my little exploit. I’ve decided to make off with

Persephone (pur-SEF-uh-nee), wife of Hades (HAY-deez), King of

the Dead.”

Theseus was speechless at the very idea of this sacrilege,

but a pledge is a pledge. And so the two set off for the

Underworld via one of the convenient caverns leading

thereto. And at length they fetched up before the throne of

Hades. Lacking any false modesty, Peirithoüs boldly stated

his business, adding that he was sure the god would concede

that Persephone would be happier with himself.

Hades feigned consent. “Very well,” he said. “If you love

her that much and you’re sure the feeling’s mutual, you may

have Persephone. But first, join me in a cordial. Please, take

a seat.”

He gestured at a bench nearby, and the two heroes, little

thinking it was bewitched, seated themselves upon it. And

here they stuck like glue. Meanwhile, Hades loosed a flock

of torments upon them in the form of serpents and Furies

and the fangs of the hellhound Cerberus (SUR-buh-rus), not

to mention the infamous water of Tartarus (TAR-tuh-rus) that

recedes as parched lips draw near.

And here the two heroes would be stuck today, were it not for

the fact that Heracles (HUR-a-kleez; Roman name: Hercules) happened

to be passing by on one of his Labors. Seeing his cousin

Theseus’s plight he freed him with one heroic yank, leaving

only a small portion of his hind parts adhering to the bench.

But Heracles couldn’t or wouldn’t free Peirithoüs. And so

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Theseus’s pal pays for eternity the price of his heroic audacity.

You come upon a hero, sitting on a stone bench.

THESEUS:

Yo, it’s me—Theseus! Hades stuck me to this

seat. All I did was try to carry off his Queen

Persephone—what a killjoy. I’ve been waiting for

a fellow hero to come along and pull me free. Do

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