Of Gods and Men

by Daisy Dunn

  I heard the sound of her crying, but I couldn’t see

  who it was; I’m telling you everything I know.’

  Hecatē said this, and received not one word in reply:

  instead, Demeter rushed her away, and the pair of them

  soon reached Helios, the watcher of gods and men.

  Demeter stopped by his horses, and spoke to him from there.

  ‘If ever I have pleased you, Helios, or if ever

  I have done you a favour, do this one for me now:

  my daughter’s voice was lost on the trackless air,

  shrill with distress; I heard, but looked and saw nothing.

  You gaze down all day from the broad sky,

  and see everything on dry land and the ocean:

  so if you have seen who forced away my child

  from me, and who went off with her, whether

  a man or a god, please, quickly, just tell me.’

  She said this, and the son of Hyperion replied:

  ‘Holy Demeter, daughter of Rhea with her long hair,

  you are going to hear it all – for I think highly

  of you and, yes, I pity you, grieving as you are

  for the loss of your skinny-legged little girl. So:

  of all the immortal gods, none other is responsible

  than the master of the clouds, Zeus himself, who gave her

  to Hades his brother to call his own

  as a beautiful wife. Hades with his team of horses

  snatched her, and dragged her to the thickening dark

  as she cried and cried. But come now; you are a goddess:

  call an end to this huge sorrow; be reasonable:

  there is no need for such uncontrollable rage.

  Hades, the lord of millions, is hardly, after all,

  the worst son-in-law amongst the immortals,

  and he is your own flesh and blood, your own brother.

  As for his position – well, he has what was allotted

  originally when things were split three ways,

  the master of those amongst whom he dwells.’

  So saying, Helios took up the reins, and his horses

  were away all at once, bearing up the chariot

  like birds with slender wings. And now grief fastened

  – a harsher, a more dreadful pain – at Demeter’s heart.

  Furious with the black cloud-god, the son of Cronos,

  she abandoned the gods’ city, and high Olympus,

  to travel through rich fields and the towns of men,

  changing her face, wiping all its beauty away,

  so that nobody, neither man nor woman, when

  they saw her could recognise her for a goddess.

  She wandered a long time, until she came to the home

  at Eleusis of the good man Celeus, master there.

  Heartsore, heart-sorry, Demeter stopped by the roadside

  at the well they called the Maiden’s Well, where people

  from the town would come for water; sat in the shade

  cast over her by heavy branches of olive,

  and looked for all the world like a very old lady,

  one long past childbearing or the gifts of love,

  just like a nurse who might care for the children

  of royalty, or a housekeeper in their busy house.

  The daughters of Celeus caught sight of her as they came

  that way to draw water, and carry it back

  to their father’s place in great big pitchers of bronze:

  Callidicē and Clisidicē, beautiful Dēmō

  and Callithoē, the eldest girl of all four,

  more like goddesses in the first flower of youth.

  They had no idea who she was – it’s hard for people

  to recognise gods – so they came straight up to her

  and demanded, ‘Madam, where have you come from

  and who, of all the old women here, are you?

  Why is it that you’ve walked out past the town

  and don’t go to its houses? Plenty of ladies

  the same age as you, and others who are younger,

  are there now, in buildings sheltered from the heat,

  to welcome you with a kind word and a kind turn.’

  When they had done, the royal goddess replied:

  ‘Good day to you, girls, whoever you may be;

  I’ll tell you what you want to know, for it’s surely

  not wrong, when you’re asked, to explain the truth.

  I am called Grace – my mother gave me that name –

  and I have travelled on the broad back of the sea

  all the way from Crete – not wanting to, but forced

  to make the journey by men who had snatched me,

  gangsters, all of them. In that fast ship of theirs

  they put in at Thoricos, where the women

  disembarked together, and they themselves began

  making their supper down by the stern-cables.

  But I had no appetite for any meal that they made,

  and when their backs were turned I disappeared

  into dark country, and escaped from those men

  before they could sell me, stolen goods, at a

  good price, bullies and fixers that they were.

  That’s how I arrived like a vagrant, and I

  don’t know what country it is, or who lives here.

  May the gods who have their homes on Olympus

  send you good husbands and plenty of children

  to please the parents; but now, spare a thought

  for me, like the well brought-up girls that you are,

  and maybe I can come to one of your houses

  to do some honest work for the ladies and gentlemen

  living there, the kind of thing a woman of my age

  does best: I can nurse a new baby, and hold

  him safe in my arms; I can keep the place clean;

  I can make up the master’s bed in a corner

  of the great bedchamber, and give all the right

  instructions to serving women in the house.’

  It was the goddess who said this; immediately

  the girl Callidicē, loveliest of Celeus’ daughters,

  spoke back to her, calling her Grandma, and saying:

  ‘Whatever the gods give, however grievous the hardship,

  people put up with it, as they must, for the gods

  are that much stronger: it’s just how things are.

  But something I can do is tell you the names

  of men who have power and prestige in this town,

  who keep its walls in good shape, whose decisions

  count for much, and whose advice is listened to here:

  wise Triptolemus and Diocles, that good man

  Eumolpus, then Polyxeinus, and Dolichus,

  and our own dear father of course, all have

  wives kept busy with the care of their houses;

  not one of them would take a dislike to you

  and turn you away from the door – they would welcome

  you in, for there is something special about you.

  Stay here, if you will, and we’ll all run back

  to tell our mother, Metaneira, the whole story,

  then see whether she’ll suggest that you come

  to ours, and not go looking for another home.

  She has a new baby in the house now, a son

  born later in life, hoped for and prayed for:

  if you were to take care of him, and see him through

  to manhood, you would be the envy of any

  woman, so well would that childcare be paid.’

  Demeter simply nodded her head, and the girls

  filled their shiny pitchers up with fresh water

  and carried them away, their heads held high.

  Soon they were at the family home, where they told

  their mother all they had seen, all they had heard.

 
; She ordered them to hurry back, and request this woman

  to come and work for a good wage. So then

  like deer, or like young calves in springtime,

  happy and well-fed, running around in the fields,

  they pulled up the folds of their long dresses

  and dashed down the cart-track; the long hair,

  yellow as saffron, streamed back over their shoulders.

  They found Demeter where they had left her, by the road,

  and they led her then towards their father’s house

  while she walked a little way behind, troubled at heart,

  her head veiled, and with the dark dress fluttering

  this way and that over her slender legs.

  They got back to Celeus’ house, and went in

  through the hallway, where their mother was waiting,

  seated by a pillar that held up the strong roof,

  with her child, the new son and heir, at her breast.

  The girls ran straight to her: slowly Demeter placed

  a foot over the threshold, her head touched the rafters,

  and around her the entire doorway lit up.

  Astonishment and draining fear together shook

  Metaneira; she gave up her couch to the visitor

  and invited her to sit. But Demeter, who brings

  the seasons round, and brings gifts with the seasons,

  had no wish to relax on that royal couch, and she

  maintained her silence, with eyes fixed on the floor,

  until Iambe came up, mindful of her duty,

  and offered a low stool, which she had covered

  with a sheep’s white fleece. The goddess

  sat down now, and with one hand she drew

  the veil across her face; and there she remained,

  sunk in her quiet grief, giving to no one

  so much as a word or a sign, sitting on there

  without a smile, accepting neither food nor drink

  for an age, as she pined for her beautiful daughter,

  until Iambe, resourceful as ever, took

  her mind off things with jokes and funny stories,

  making her smile first, then laugh, and feel better,

  and Metaneira offered her the cup she had filled

  with wine, sweet as honey: but she shook her head

  and announced that, for her, it was not proper now

  to take wine – instead, she asked Metaneira

  to give her some barley-water and pennyroyal

  mixed up together: the queen made this, and served it

  to the great goddess, to Demeter,

  who accepted it solemnly, and drank it down.

  Only then did Metaneira begin to speak:

  ‘Madam, you are welcome here; all the more so

  for coming from no ordinary stock

  but, I’d say, from the best – for your every glance

  is full of modesty and grace, you have something

  almost royal about you. But what the gods give us,

  hard though it is, we mere human beings

  endure: all our necks are under that yoke.

  You are here now, and whatever is mine shall be yours.

  This little boy – my last born, scarcely hoped for,

  granted me by the gods only after much prayer –

  nurse him for me now, and if you raise him

  to be a healthy, strong man, then any woman

  at all will be jealous to see you, so great

  will be the reward I give you for your work.’

  Demeter replied: ‘Accept my greetings, good lady,

  and may the gods be kind to you. I will indeed

  take care of this fine boy of yours, as you ask.

  I shall rear him, and neglect nothing: sudden sickness

  will never harm him, and never will some witch

  of the forest, who taps roots for magic or poison,

  touch a single hair of his head; for I know

  stronger sources to tap, and I know the remedy

  for all such assaults: a sure one, unfailing.’

  Then with her two arms, the arms of a goddess,

  she drew the baby in close to her own bosom,

  and its mother smiled at the sight. In the big house

  from then on Demeter looked after the son

  of Celeus and Metaneira, while he grew up

  at a god’s rate, not eating solids, or taking

  milk, but fed by her with ambrosia, as if

  he were indeed a god, born of a god;

  she breathed gently over him and kept him close,

  and at night, unknown to anyone, she smuggled him

  into the burning fire, like a new log of wood.

  He was thriving so well, and looking so much more

  than a human child, that both the parents were amazed.

  And the goddess Demeter would have delivered him

  from age and from death, had not Metaneira

  been up one night and, without so much as

  giving it a thought, from her own bedroom

  looked into the hall: in sheer terror for the child

  she screamed, and did her best to raise the alarm,

  seeing the worst and believing it, she called out

  to her little boy, half-keening: ‘Demophoön,

  my own baby, this stranger is hiding you

  in the big fire, she’s the one making my voice shrill

  with pain, ‘Demophoön, my darling, my child.’

  She cried all this out, and the goddess heard her.

  Furious that instant, mighty Demeter

  took the child – their last born, scarcely hoped for –

  and with her own immortal hands she brought him

  out of the fire, set him gently on the floor,

  then, brimming with anger, turned on Metaneira:

  ‘You stupid creatures, you witless and ignorant

  humans, blind to the good as well as the bad

  things in store for you, and no use to each other:

  I swear to you here, as gods do, by the rippling

  dark waters of Styx, that I would have made

  this child of yours immortal, honoured, a man

  untouched by age for eternity; but nothing now

  can keep the years back, or keep death from him.

  There is one mark of honour that will always be his:

  because he once slept in my arms, and lay in my lap,

  all the young men at Eleusis, at the set time

  each year, as their scared duty, will gather

  for the sham fight, and stage that battle forever.

  For I am Demeter, proud of my own honours

  as the bringer of joy to the gods, and of blessings

  to mortal men. Everyone now has to build me

  a spacious temple, with its altar underneath,

  by the steep walls of your city, where a hill

  rises just above the Maidens’ Well. The rites

  will be as I instruct, when I teach you the ways

  to calm my anger, and be good servants to me.’

  And with that, instantly the goddess changed form –

  her height, her whole appearance – shuffling away

  old age, so that sheer beauty blazed and spread

  in and around her; from her robes a gorgeous perfume

  drifted, and from her immortal flesh there came

  pure light, with the reach of moonbeams; her hair

  flashed over her shoulders, and the entire house

  was flooded with a sudden brilliance of lightning

  as she stepped out through the hall. Metaneira’s

  knees went from beneath her, and for an age

  she sat there speechless, not even thinking

  to pick that dear child of hers up from the floor.

  When his sisters heard the boy starting to cry

  they jumped straight out of their beds, and one

  caught him
up in her arms, and held him close,

  while another stoked the fire, and a third

  dashed on bare feet to take hold of her mother

  and help her away. As the girls huddled round him,

  trying to comfort him and dab his skin clean,

  the baby wriggled and fretted, knowing full well

  these nurses were hardly the kind he was used to.

  That whole night long, shaking with fear, the women

  did their best to appease the great goddess.

  When dawn came at last, they told everything

  to Celeus, exactly as Demeter had instructed,

  and he, as their ruler, lost no time

  in calling the citizens together, and giving them

  the order to build the goddess her temple

  and to put her altar just where the hill rises.

  They listened to him, and they did all that he said,

  so that a temple rose up, as the goddess required.

  When the job was done, and the people stopped working,

  they all went home; but golden Demeter

  installed herself in her temple, apart from the other gods,

  and stayed there, eaten up with grief for her daughter.

  She made that year the worst for people living

  on the good earth, the worst and the hardest: not one

  little seed could poke its head up from the soil,

  for Demeter had smothered them all; the oxen

  broke their ploughs and twisted them, scraping

  across hardened furrows; and all the white barley

  that year was sown in vain. She would have destroyed

  every single human being in the world

  with this famine, just to spite the gods on Olympus,

  had not Zeus decided to intervene: first

  he dispatched Iris, on her wings the colour of gold,

  to give Demeter his orders, and she did as he asked,

  covering the distance in no time, and landing

  at Eleusis, where the air was filled with incense.

  She found Demeter wearing dark robes in the temple,

  and spoke to her urgently: ‘Zeus, our father

  who knows everything, summons you back now

  to join the family of the immortal gods:

  come quick, don’t let his command be in vain.’

  But her pleas had no effect at all on Demeter:

  then Zeus sent out all of the gods, one by one,

  to deliver his summons, bringing the best of gifts,

  with whatever fresh honours she might desire;

  but Demeter was so furious then that she

  dismissed every speech out of hand, and told them all

  that she would neither set foot again

  on Olympus, nor let anything grow on the earth,

  unless she could see her beautiful daughter once more.