by Rick Riordan
Why Hera planted her apple tree way out there instead of keeping it on Mount Olympus, I don’t know. Maybe she just wanted to make it harder for heroes to steal her apples later on. If so, her plan worked…mostly.
Zeus and Hera stayed happily married for three hundred years, which isn’t a long time for gods but is better than your average Hollywood marriage. They had three kids together: a boy, Ares, who was what you’d call a problem child; a girl, Hebe, who became the goddess of eternal youth; and another girl, Eileithyia, who became the goddess of childbirth. Kind of bad planning—having the goddess of childbirth last, after you’ve had two kids. It’s almost like Hera thought, Wow, this childbearing stuff? This hurts! We should have a goddess for this.
After their third kid was born, Zeus started to get the four-hundred-year itch. He remembered the good old days when he was a single guy, ambushing goddesses in snake pits and fun stuff like that. He started looking at other women and flirting again.
He’d promised to be a good husband, and he had been…for a while. But when you’re immortal, those vows about “as long as you both shall live” take on a whole new meaning.
The more he flirted, the more upset and suspicious Hera got.
What she hated most were all the kids Zeus had by other women. They just kept popping up like weeds. Zeus claimed they were all from previous relationships, but that excuse didn’t really cut it. Some of these kids were mortal, and they definitely didn’t look over three hundred years old. Every time one of them showed up, Hera imagined the other gods snickering behind her back, whispering about what a fool she’d been to trust Zeus.
Finally she blew her lid.
She shouted at Zeus, “You keep having kids without me! You think that’s funny? You think I appreciate your going back on your promise?”
Zeus frowned. “Is that a trick question?”
“See how you like it!” Hera cried. “I’m going to have a kid without you, without any man! I’ll have a baby all by myself!”
Zeus scratched his head. “Uh, honey, I don’t think it works that way.”
“Bah!” Hera marched out of the throne room.
I don’t know how she did it. Since her wedding with Zeus, Hera had become the goddess of marriage and motherhood, so I suppose she had certain powers. Anyway, out of sheer force of will, some very effective breathing exercises, possibly some Eastern meditation, and a proper diet, Hera got pregnant magically, with absolutely no help.
That was the good news.
The bad news? When the baby arrived, he looked like he could’ve used some help. His head was misshapen. His whole body was covered with patches of curly black hair. He had a large chest and bulky arms, but his legs were shriveled and bent, one slightly longer than the other. Instead of crying, he made grunting noises like he really needed to use the bathroom.
He was the ugliest kid Hera had ever seen. Even though he was her own baby, she felt no motherly connection at all—no love, just embarrassment.
Personally, I’m not surprised things turned out badly. I mean, you have a baby for revenge? That’s a pretty messed-up reason, but it wasn’t the kid’s fault.
Hera said to herself: I can’t show this baby to the other gods. I’ll be ridiculed. She went to the open window of her bedroom and looked down the side of Mount Olympus. It sure was a long way down.
Who would ever know if the kid disappeared? She could always claim that she’d never been pregnant. False alarm.
Before she could rethink this pretty terrible idea, she tossed the baby out the window.
I know. Totally cold. Like a kid is something you can just throw away. But Hera was complicated that way. One day she was the perfect mother. The next day she was throwing babies out the window.
Oh, but the kid wasn’t gone. His name was Hephaestus, and we’ll see what happened to him later on.
In the meantime, Hera had other problems to deal with.
The first time a mortal hero visited Mount Olympus, it was a big deal. His name was Ixion, and apparently he was the first human to figure out that you could kill other humans in battle. Congratulations! You win a prize!
The gods were so impressed that he’d learned to fight other humans with an actual sword instead of just chucking rocks and grunting at them, they invited Ixion to a feast on Mount Olympus.
You’d think the guy would be on his best behavior. Nope.
He had too much to eat and drink. All the praise went to his head. He started thinking the gods were actually his friends, his peers, his comrades. Big mistake. No matter how nicely the gods treat you, they never see you as their equal. Remember, to them we are gerbils who have fire, cockroaches who can use weapons. We’re kind of entertaining. Occasionally we’re useful, if the gods need to kill small things down on earth. But BFFs? No.
All evening, Ixion kept making eyes at Hera, since she was the most beautiful lady at the table. Zeus was too busy partying to notice, much less care. Finally Hera got really uncomfortable and excused herself.
Ixion figured that was his cue to follow her. The guy had learned how to kill people, but apparently he had a lot to learn about goddesses. After she’d left, Ixion waited at the table for a few minutes, then he announced to the gods, “Hey, all this drink is going right through me. Where’s the bathroom? Uh, do gods even have bathrooms?”
“Down the hall,” Zeus said. “First door on the right. They’re marked mortals and gods. Just be sure you use the correct one.”
Ixion headed off in the direction Hera had gone. He found her standing on a balcony, looking at the clouds.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said.
She flinched. She probably would have turned him into some form of snail—something very slimy—but she was too stunned that this mortal had dared to speak to her.
Ixion took her silence as shyness. “Yeah, I know you’ve been checking me out. I think you’re awesome, too. How about a kiss?”
He put his arm around her and tried to kiss her. Hera was so panicked, all she could do was push him away and run. She lost him in the corridors of the palace, locked herself in her room, and waited until her pulse returned to normal.
Why hadn’t she incinerated him? Or at least changed him into a slug?
She’d been too shocked. Also, maybe, she was a little confused by the flirting. It had been several hundred years since she’d had to deal with that. Once she’d gotten married, she’d put other men out of her mind completely.
Whatever Hera’s faults, she was not a cheater. She didn’t have an unfaithful bone in her immortal body. She truly and honestly believed that marriage was forever, for better or worse, which was why Zeus’s little adventures drove her into a rage.
Once she had calmed down, she started to plot her revenge. She could punish Ixion herself, sure. But why not tell Zeus instead? Let him be the jealous one for a change. Maybe if he had to defend her honor, he would start taking his marriage vows more seriously.
Hera composed herself and returned to the dinner table. Ixion sat there chatting away, as if nothing had happened—the little weasel. Hera gave him a smile, just to show she wasn’t rattled. Then she leaned over to Zeus and whispered, “My lord, may I speak with you in private?”
Zeus frowned. “Am I in trouble?”
“Not yet,” she said sweetly.
She led him down the hall and explained what had happened.
Zeus scowled. He stroked his beard thoughtfully.
Hera had been hoping he would march right back into the dining room and blast Ixion to ashes, but he didn’t.
“Did you hear me?” Hera asked. “Why aren’t you getting angry?”
“Oh, I heard you.” Zeus cleared his throat. “It’s just…well, he’s a guest in my house. He’s eaten our food. I can’t incinerate him without good reason.”
“WITHOUT GOOD REASON?” she cried. “He made a pass at
your wife!”
“Yes, yes. And that’s very serious. Still, I need indisputable proof.”
“My word is not good enough?” Hera was about to throw Zeus off the balcony and take care of Ixion herself, but Zeus raised his hands to placate her.
“I have a plan,” he said. “We’ll see if Ixion really intended to dishonor you, or if he just made a drunken, stupid mistake. Once we have proof, none of the other gods will object to my punishing this mortal, even though he is my guest. Trust me. If he’s guilty, his punishment will be spectacular.”
Hera clenched her fists. “Do what you have to do.”
Zeus reached over the railing and summoned down a cloud. It condensed and churned before him in a small white tornado, shaping itself into a humanoid figure. It became an exact replica of Hera, only pale and cold.
I take that back. It was an exact replica of Hera.
Fake Hera looked at Real Hera. “Hello.”
“That is creepy,” said Real Hera.
“Just wait here,” Zeus told Real Hera.
He took Fake Hera back to the party.
Ixion picked up right where he’d left off, flirting with Fake Hera. To his delight, Fake Hera flirted back. She gestured for him to follow her down the hall. One thing led to another.
In the morning, the bleary-eyed gods stumbled into the dining hall for breakfast. They were surprised to find that Ixion had stayed overnight, and when they asked why, Ixion told them that the Queen of Heaven had invited him to stay in her apartment—wink, wink, wink.
“I have her wrapped around my little finger,” he bragged. “She said I was much handsomer than Zeus. She’s going to make me immortal just so she can be with me forever.”
He went on boasting about how cool he was and how much Hera wanted to leave Zeus and marry him. Meanwhile, Zeus himself entered the dining hall and walked up quietly behind Ixion.
Finally Ixion realized that all the gods at the table had gone silent.
He faltered. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”
“Why, yes!” Zeus said cheerfully. “And if you’re going to steal another man’s wife, you really shouldn’t brag about it in his own house. Also, you should make sure it’s actually the man’s wife you stole, and not a cloud dummy.”
Ixion gulped. “I guess I’m in trouble.”
“Just a bit!” Zeus agreed.
None of the other gods objected to Zeus’s punishing his guest. Zeus called for a spare chariot wheel and strapped Ixion to the spokes, stretching his limbs so tight, they were about to snap. Then he set the wheel on fire and threw it into the sky like a Frisbee. Ixion became immortal, all right, but only so he could suffer eternal agony. He’s still up there in orbit, spinning and burning and screaming, “Hera! I thought you liked me!”
The strangest part of the story? Fake Hera actually had a baby. How does a cloud have a baby? I have no clue, but their son was a guy named Centaurus, who apparently fell in love with a horse—again, no clue. Their kids became the race of centaurs, who are half human, half horse.
Like I told you at the beginning, I couldn’t make up stuff this weird.
Hera hoped Zeus would be a more attentive husband after the Ixion incident, but she was disappointed. Instead, Zeus seemed to think he’d successfully defended Hera’s honor, so now he deserved some playtime.
If I tried to tell you all the times Hera took revenge on Zeus’s girlfriends, we’d be here for a century. It sort of became Hera’s full-time job.
But one particular mortal girl really got under her skin. Semele was a princess of the Greek city of Thebes, and though no one dared to say it aloud, everyone knew she was the most beautiful mortal of her generation—as beautiful as a goddess, perhaps even more beautiful than Hera herself.
Zeus started taking a lot of “shopping trips” down to Thebes. Hera was suspicious, of course, but Zeus was clever. Hera could never catch him and Semele together. Then one day she was hovering over Thebes as a golden cloud when she happened to spot Zeus (in disguise as a mortal, but Hera could still recognize him) exiting a house in the best part of town.
A moment later, Semele appeared at the door and waved after him. The girl only stood there for a second, but one thing was obvious: she was immensely pregnant.
Hera snarled and muttered to herself, but she couldn’t simply kill the girl outright. Even though Zeus was no-good scumbag, he was a very powerful no-good scumbag. If he found out that Hera had killed one of his girlfriends, he could inflict all sorts of pain and suffering on her. She would have to work through trickery.
Hera floated down to Thebes in her golden cloud and took the form of an old woman. She knocked on Semele’s door, thinking she would pretend to be a beggar or perhaps a traveling saleslady.
Semele opened the door and gasped. “Beroe, is that you?”
Hera had no idea what the girl was talking about, but she played along. “Why, yes, my dear! It is I, Beroe, your, um—”
“My nursemaid from childhood!”
“Exactly!”
“Oh, you have aged so!”
“Thanks,” Hera muttered.
“But I would still know you anywhere. Please, come in!”
Hera got a tour of the house. She was outraged to find it was just as nice, if not better, than her own apartment on Mount Olympus.
She asked innocently how Semele came by such an amazing mansion, which seemed elaborate even for a princess.
“Oh, it’s my boyfriend,” Semele said, beaming with pride. “He’s so awesome, he gives me anything I want. Look at this necklace he just brought me.”
She showed Hera a jade, gold, and ruby pendant that was much nicer than anything Zeus had ever given Hera.
“How lovely.” Hera resisted the urge to punch the princess in her perfect teeth. “So, who is this guy? Is he local?”
“Oh…I’m not supposed to say.”
“But I’m your old nursemaid, Beryl!” Hera said.
“Beroe,” Semele said.
“That’s what I meant! Surely you can tell me.”
Semele was bursting with excitement. She’d been dying to tell someone, so she didn’t take much convincing.
“Well…it’s Zeus,” she confessed. “The lord of the sky. The king of creation.”
Hera stared at her, feigning disbelief. Then she sighed in sympathy. “Oh, my poor girl. My poor, poor girl.”
Semele blinked. That wasn’t the reaction she’d been expecting. “But…I’m dating the king of the universe!”
Hera snorted. “So he says. How many guys have used that line before? Like, every one of them! How do you know he’s actually a god, and not just some rich old creep pretending to be a god?”
Semele’s face reddened. “But he said he was Zeus. And he seems very…godly.”
“Has he done anything to prove it?”
“Uh, well, no.”
Hera pretended to think about the problem. “This is the father of your child. You should be sure. You said he would do anything for you?”
“Yes! He promised!”
“Get him to swear,” Hera advised. “Then ask him to appear before you the way he appears before his wife Hera—in his true godly form. That’s the only way you’ll know for sure.”
Semele pondered this. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Not if he truly loves you! Are you not as good as Hera?”
“Of course.”
“And as beautiful?”
“More beautiful. Zeus told me so.”
Hera clenched her jaw so hard, she cracked an immortal tooth. “There you go, then. If Hera can handle Zeus’s godly form, then surely you can too! I hope he really is Zeus, my dear. Honestly! But you must be sure. Your child’s future is on the line. When is he coming back?”
“Very soon, actually.”
“Well, look at the
time!” Hera said. “Wonderful catching up, but I should go. I have…old-lady things to do.”
Hera left. An hour later, Zeus returned to Semele’s house.
“Hey, babe,” he said as he walked in.
Immediately he noticed something was wrong. Semele didn’t run up and hug him and kiss him as usual. She was sulking on her couch with her arms crossed across her pregnant belly.
“Uh…what’s up?” Zeus asked.
Semele pouted. “You said you’d do anything for me.”
“And I will! You want another necklace?”
“No,” she said. “I want a different favor. Only one thing will make me happy.”
Zeus chuckled. Maybe Semele wanted a dress this time, or a pair of those new things the humans had just invented…what were they called…shoes?
“Anything you want,” Zeus said.
“Promise?”
He spread his arms magnanimously. “I swear on the River Styx. Ask me any favor, and it’s yours.”
“Good.” She allowed herself a smile. “I want you to appear before me in your true godly form, the way you appear to Hera.”
Zeus sucked in his breath. “Oh…bad idea, babe. Ask me something else.”
“No!” Semele struggled to her feet. “You said anything. I want proof that you’re really a god. I’m just as good as Hera! I want to see you the way she sees you.”
“But a god’s true form…that’s not for mortals to look on. Especially pregnant mortals. Especially pregnant mortals who would like to live longer than a few seconds.”
“I can handle it,” she said. “I know I can.”
Zeus was not so sure about that. He’d never actually tried appearing to a mortal in his pure godly form before, but he imagined that for the mortal, it would be like looking at the sun without protective eyewear, or looking at an actor first thing in the morning pre-makeup. Dangerous.
On the other hand, Zeus had sworn on the River Styx, and he couldn’t back out of that. Also, Semele was a feisty girl. She was the daughter of the famous hero Cadmus. If she thought she could handle seeing a god’s true form, maybe she could.