The Progeny of Daedalus

by Jeffrey MacLeod

  “Orpheus’ grief was complete. He cast himself upon Eurydice’s burial mound and withdrew from the activities of the living. He would neither eat nor drink; he would neither speak nor weep; and most of all, without his love, he would not play or sing. He simply lay upon her grave and waited for death to come to reunite them.

  “Just as his music ceased, so too the world about him withdrew into mourning. Uranos, the sky above, wept and yet the streams beneath would not be filled and ran dry; the winds, both Boreas and Ureus, grieved bitterly across the land, biting rock and tree and all living creatures in their sorrow; Gaia, the Earth Mother, would yield neither flower nor shoot; and the dryads of the forest refused to allow their trees to blossom or bear fruit. All the world lamented, not for the loss of Eurydice, beauty though she was, but for the privation of Orpheus’ gift.

  “What father could not be moved by a son’s sorrow so extreme? I came to Orpheus, taking up my lyre, and sang to him tales of greatest love and greatest loss, endeavouring to bring forth his tears such that they might wash his misery into the earth beneath him; but the tears would not come. Finally, in fear that he too would soon join Eurydice in Hades’ dark realm, I told him the desperate stories of heroism that he might most want to hear…”

  “And what were they?” Danae interrupts. Her anger is passed, but she is impatiently uncertain of the direction of Apollo’s narrative. He looks at her, a faint smile on His youthful face:

  “As he lay there, deaf to all but the wailing of the mournful Anemoi, I relayed to Orpheus the legends of the two greatest heroes of Greece, Hercules and Theseus, and how they both descended to Hades to bring back the dead. And at this, finally, Orpheus raised his head for the first time.”

  The young God pauses and eyes them all, his gravity the antithesis of their animation.

  “It was a reckless option for Orpheus, but it had been done before...”

  “Then we can do it…!”

  “Of course we can…!”

  “…and it would be a dire thing for you to attempt…” He puts a hand upon Leda’s shoulder and stares into her eyes; an impulsive determination blazes back at Him, a fire that seems incompatible with her diminutive size.

  There is no question; they can retrieve him. This is what He reads there. He looks at all three, still gauging their resolve.

  “We can do this.” There is a steel in Ilia’s voice that none of them have heard before.

  “We will do it,” Danae echoes, equally determined.

  Leda simply nods, her face set hard.

  Apollo considers them with a long, steady look; they hold His gaze.

  “You seem determined.”

  “We are.” Ilia speaks for them all.

  “Orpheus felt the same…”

  “And did he succeed?” Leda asks. “Did he get Eurydice back?”

  The God’s answer is underwhelming:

  “Nearly.”

  “Nearly? So he didn’t?”

  “No.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “Well,” Apollo resumes, and that hint of sadness returns to His youthful face, “he almost achieved it. It was at my suggestion that he found the entrance to the Underworld – indeed it is quite close to where we are now. Around that entrance linger the haggard shapes of Disease and Age, Grief and Hunger, Sleep and Fear, but Orpheus did not heed either plea nor curse and he passed them by with a shiver. He entered the deep cave and, armed only with his voice, his lyre and his love, he descended the rocky path into Hades dark realm, continuing down that broad road to where it ends on the shore of the Infernal River that no living man may pass. There again he summoned his music, this time to call forth Charon the Ferryman, moving even that heartless entity to bend to his purpose. For the first time in all the dark years Charon gave passage across the black waters without demanding a coin in payment, setting Orpheus on the far shore.

  “There the shades of the dead thronged about him, calling to him in voices like the sighing wind, and he shuddered as he passed them. Many faces he recognised, but none that might aid him and, unlike Odysseus, he had no way to give them voice. He pushed on to the Stygian gates where that three-headed beast, Cerberus, would have thwarted him, but Orpheus struck up such a mournful melody that the hellhound bowed all three heads and let my son through. Over the fields of Asphodel he travelled, where the insignificant dead simply watched him pass, but when he came to the Mourning Fields the shades pressed in closely and whispered warnings of lessons learned from lives spent in unrequited love. Finally, when he came to the Elysian Fields where the dead live in bliss and spend eternity in dance and song and Rhadamanthus sits in judgement, then Orpheus knew he was nearing the throne of the Lord of the Underworld. Many great heroes were gathered there, but Orpheus was intent upon Eurydice and he passed them by unmarked. So strange was it for the dead to see a living mortal in their realm, that the Shades ceased their eternal festivities to stare and, sensing a great purpose, parted before him like a mist.

  “Finally, Orpheus came to Hades’ dark palace and entered, coming directly into the vast kingly hall where sits the Lord of the Dead upon His ebony throne, vested with sceptre and two-pronged spear and Cornucopia, that abundant horn, with His Queen Persephone by His side. Hades, however, was unmoved by Orpheus entreaties, accustomed as He is to the pleas of the dead, and bade him leave while he was still permitted to do so. But Orpheus would not depart and he called upon Persephone to melt Her consort’s heart and convince Him to release Eurydice to the realm of the living.

  “Then, at the sound of her name, the shade of Eurydice came forth, as if summoned, and Orpheus knew her and ran to her. But the shades of the dead have little substance in form or thought so she did not know her husband and, as he reached for her, she remained unmoved and blank. He tried to take her in his arms but they passed through Eurydice as if she were a mere vapour. Orpheus’ heart was torn anew and his grief and desperation overwhelmed him. Knowing not what else to do he struck up his lyre and played to her, and his divine voice filled that hall with such a melancholy song that finally even Hades’ black heart was moved.

  “In that moment Eurydice’s spectre knew her husband and ghostly tears ran down her pale cheeks and her echoing voice called to him as he sang. At this the Queen could watch no more and She turned to Her husband – but there was no need; He too was swayed and bowed His head in resignation.

  “Imagine that – a song that could affect Hades. Think of all the miseries of love that He has witnessed through the ages; overwhelmed and desperate young lovers torn apart; hysterical children ripped from their panic-stricken parents; the long-awaited baby cold and limp in her mother’s enfolding arms; the final breath of an ancient wife, leaving her husband forever, having shared every day of their long lives in each other’s company. Imagine those millions of torn hearts through the ages that have pleaded with Hades; the number of wretched prayers and fraught demands and despairing bargains that have attempted to elicit His mercy; yet He has never been moved; all have been ignored. What must that song have been that it could move even Him? How pitiful must have been the sight of the two of them trying to embrace beyond the grave? Yet such as it was, Hades’ black heart was stirred to pity.

  ““Orpheus,” He said, “I too have been transfixed by beauty, so I know what it is that drives you, and I will grant your request. But I grant it on one condition – that when you die and leave the world above, you will dwell here in the Elysian fields and ply your gift for eternity.” Orpheus assured the Dark Lord that in return for his love he would do anything, so Hades consented Eurydice’s release. “However,” He warned, “her shade will follow you, but she will not return to life until you reach the sunlight above. Before then, you must not look at her; she will follow you up the dark path. Through faith and patience, she will join you in the light.”

  “Orpheus was beside himself with excitement and gratitude. He thanked Hades and acknowledged the warning, then turned his face from his love’s shade and began
to retrace his steps, out of the palace, across the fields of Elysium and Asphodel, through the gates and to the edge of the infernal river. There Charon was waiting for them and Orpheus, still not looking back, boarded the Stygian ferry and stood at the prow, eagerly looking to the far shore. As the ferry neared he leapt ashore and began the ascent to the world of the living. All this journey he was torn; he could hear nothing behind him, neither footstep nor breath, and doubt began to gnaw at him. Had he been fooled? Was Hades now laughing at him? Was his love truly behind him? Why could he hear nothing? He tried to reassure himself; he told himself to trust, to have faith in the word of the God of the Dead. But then, his thought countered, when had the gods ever been true? When had They been honest? They were as deceitful and selfish as They were omnipotent. The tragedies of men were mere whims to Them, or games. Surely his desperate love was being ridiculed.

  “Finally he could see the mouth of the cave and the light of the world beyond – just a few paces to go. But he was alone, he was suddenly certain of this. He had ascended alone and Eurydice had remained in Hades’ halls, and the dead and their Lord were now mocking his stupidity.

  “He turned.

  “There she was! Her shade was there, but now so close to the light and the world of the living that she was almost substantial again. Her beauty infused him and he reached for her.

  “The Horror! The Horror! It swept across her face. He saw her fear, her terror, as their eyes locked and she knew she was undone. She began to fade, to melt, to return to a mist, and as she did so his stretching hand clutched at her desperately – but it was too late. His hand swept through her. She reached for him in return, but her hand passed through him also; their existences were incompatible. He saw the despair and the fear on her face begin to fade, her expression to blanche back to ignorance and then, like a rising smoke from a small fire that is blown away by the wind, she evaporated before him.

  “He called out to her, repeating her name, but there was nothing. He tore at himself, ripped his clothes and hair, his heartache was beyond bearing. He turned and descended that dark way, intent on returning to Hades to plead with the God again, but when he reached the bank of the Styx its waters were empty and the Ferryman was nowhere to be seen. In anguish he wandered long on the mournful bank, singing his misery, but Charon would not come. The shades of the dead gathered on the far shore, drawn by his song, but Eurydice was not among them. After many days he realised that he would not be admitted to the Underworld again, not until his own death.

  “He was so overcome that he changed his song from one of sorrow to a plea for death, calling upon Hades’ mercy to end the misery of his life, and in doing so he summoned the beasts of Tartarus to come to him and rend his body to shreds. His plea was heard and from the shadows red eyes appeared and the beasts gathered around – but he felt no fear, only anticipation. Orpheus continued his song until claw and teeth silenced him and his blood seeped into the black waters and was washed away.

  “Then Orpheus was permitted to enter Hades for the second time and his shade joined the throng on the Elysian fields and there, united with the phantom of his love, he keeps his promise and his eternal song still echoes in the heedless ears of the dead.”

  Apollo falls silent.

  The girls are not quite sure what to say; the tale is terribly sad, and the ending is not the fuel that their optimism desires. But they refuse to be dissuaded. A sudden memory comes to Danae; the grating sound as she closed the stone lid on Dad’s lifeless body. A steely determination comes over her; she will not now be cowed:

  “So Orpheus could have brought Eurydice back, if he had not looked behind.” As this is a statement, she does not wait for an answer. “And we could bring Dad back also...” Her sisters nod their agreement. “There are of course a few small hurdles…” she continues. “Finding Hades; crossing the Styx; getting past Cerberus etcetera etcetera.” She is actually relishing the impossibility of it all, as it has no impact on her certainty that they will achieve it. As was her intent, her optimism is contagious, and Leda joins her in making light of the task ahead:

  “Then of course we would have to cross the Underworld, get past all those dead people, and find Hades’ palace.” She sounds as frivolous as if she is selecting sweets to accompany a Disney film.

  “Exactly!” grins Danae. “Then convince Hades to let us take Dad back…”

  “And oh,” Leda concludes, “not look back until we ascend back to the world!”

  “Easy-peasy!” says Danae. Now Ilia is also smiling along with them and even Apollo’s gravity might be lightened. It is a strange turn then, and a telling one, when the littlest of them – Leda – is the first to turn serious:

  “We will do it though,” she states as fact. “We left Dad in the Labyrinth. We will get him out of Hades.”

  The three sisters look at each other, their eyes gleaming with both determination and excitement. The unlikelihood of success is at this moment irrelevant; the important thing is that where they had given up all hope, and resigned themselves to living with this loss, they now have another option – they have a way out. They will sort the details out at another time; right now the important thing is that the possibility exists.

  In the midst of this shared and unexpected euphoria, Danae looks suddenly troubled. That suspicious and accusing expression returns to her face and she turns to Apollo:

  “Why are you only telling us this now? Why didn’t you tell us before?” Ilia and Leda look from their sister to the young God, silently legitimising the question. “For months now,” she continues, “we’ve been trying to accept that we would never see Dad again. Now you tell us that isn’t necessarily true. Why didn’t you tell us before?” As she speaks, Danae’s tone is increasingly hostile.

  “Danae…” Ilia interrupts, her manner urging caution. But she has no need, as Apollo shows no sign that the impertinence irritates him.

  “I cannot come to you; I had to wait until you came to me,” He states impassively.

  Danae’s growing hostility is undermined. She stares back blankly. So it is that simple? And the responsibility lay with them?

  “Besides,” He adds, as if an afterthought, “a journey to the Underworld is rarely my first recommendation as an antidote for suffering!”

  There is a momentary pause that is broken by one of Danae’s unrestrained grins.

  “Touche!” she says. Who would have thought it – sarcasm from a god? And here was she thinking it was her domain, as sure as Tartarus is Hades’.

  Ilia, however, remains focused, her brain working hard; she finds herself thinking aloud:

  “Orpheus was a demigod, but he failed. Hercules and Theseus were also demigods, as well as the greatest heroes ever…” It is clear what she is inferring.

  “Tough company,” Danae adds wryly, determined not to take any pessimism seriously. Leda is a little more constructive in her objection:

  “Odysseus was a man!” she says, “and he managed it.”

  “Yes, but he only went to the Styx and spoke to the dead – he didn’t try to bargain with Hades,” Ilia responds, “which is completely different. But,” she admits, “there is now some hope.” She turns back to Apollo: “On behalf of my sisters, thank you,” she says. “I know this is desperate, and right now none of us can really imagine what it might be like, but we will try this.” Leda and Danae are nodding. “We will remember your advice and we won’t rush in – we will think it through and plan as best we can. You have already done so much to help us so I’m hesitant to ask but,” and here she looks very apologetic, “is there anything else you can do to assist us? Any more advice? I mean, for example, how can we bargain with Hades?”

  When He responds, Apollo’s voice is soft and full of sympathy:

  “I cannot help you much more,” He says. “As I have said before, this is your curse to break, and your adventure to live. There are many stories like that of Orpheus which relate attempts to enter and escape the Underworld – and not a
ll are Hellenic. In these you may learn clues as to what may help, and what you may encounter. You have many wonderful attributes and you each have your gifts and, most importantly, you have each other. Though great heroes of the past may have failed, each one of them attempted this formidable task in isolation – you, however, are three. The best advice I can give you is to rely upon each other. Never try anything alone, unless there is no other choice. Together you may prove stronger than even Hercules himself.”

  The girls beam at this compliment and, right at this moment, nothing seems impossible.

  “One last suggestion, and then you must go,” He adds, “and that is that in the Garden of the Hesperides there are many apples…”

  Ilia leaps on the suggestion:

  “You mean Hades may be persuaded by a golden apple?”

  “Perhaps, He – or his Queen. But at the least, it cannot diminish your prospects of success. But I think you must attend to your primary quest first, and only if that is achieved attempt to reclaim your father. To enter Hades whilst still under the curse of Hera would be a doomed undertaking. But the two quests may run parallel for a while and you may learn or obtain things upon the first that will assist the second. Now,” and the young God looks at each of them gravely, “you must go. I do not think we will speak again, at least not for a long while, for I have done about as much as I may without drawing attention from those who would thwart your endeavours. If you get through this then we will meet again, perhaps even with Father Zeus himself. If not, then maybe in another life, in ages to come. But for now, be courageous, be careful, and do not give up. Harness your strengths and work in synergy. If it comes as any reassurance, I believe that Hera has greatly underestimated your chances.”

  “Thank you so much…”

  “Yes, thank you…”

  “We would have no chance without you…”

  He smiles warmly, then ushers them away one final time.