by Rick Riordan
Up on Olympus, Athena heard the baby crying. She tried to ignore it, but to her surprise, motherly instinct stirred inside her. She flew down to the earth and picked up the child. She understood how he had been born, and though the whole thing was still totally disgusting to her, she couldn’t blame the little boy.
“I suppose technically you are my son,” she decided, “even though I am still a maiden goddess. I will claim you as my own, and name you Erikthonius.”
(She gets one chance to name a kid, and that’s what she picks? Don’t ask me.)
“If I’m going to raise you,” she continued, “I should first make you immortal. I know just the thing….”
She got a wooden chest and put the baby inside. Then she created a magical serpent and put it in there too. (By the way, this is really not something you should try at home.) The baby boy Erikthonius fell asleep contentedly with the snake curled around him.
“There,” Athena said. “A few days in that box, and the serpent will enhance your godly qualities. You will cease to be mortal and you’ll become one of the gods!”
She closed the chest and took it to the Acropolis in Athens, which was, of course, her most sacred place. She gave the box to the daughters of Kekrops, the first king of Athens.
“Don’t open this box!” she warned the princesses. “It has to stay closed, or bad things will happen.”
The princesses promised, but after only one night, they got curious. They were pretty sure they heard a baby in there, cooing and gurgling, and they were afraid the kid was in trouble.
“What kind of goddess puts a baby in a box?” one of them muttered. “We’d better check.”
The princesses opened the box and saw the snake curled around the baby. I’m not sure why it freaked them out so badly. Maybe they saw godly light in there or something, but the girls went insane. They dropped the box and ran straight off the side of the Acropolis’s cliffs, plummeting to their deaths.
As for the baby, he was fine, but the spell was broken before he could become immortal. The snake slithered away and Athena came to cradle the child. She was raging mad, but since she couldn’t scold the princesses, seeing as they were dead, and all, she took out her vengeance on their dad, King Kekrops. Once Erikthonius grew up, he kicked out Kekrops and took over as king of Athens. That’s why the Athenian kings liked to say they were descended from Hephaestus and Athena, even though Athena was an eternal maiden.
So don’t tell me Athena can’t have kids, because there’s the story that says otherwise. Besides, I’m dating one of Athena’s daughters, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t spring from a dirty handkerchief.
Hmm. Actually, I’ve never asked her.
Nah, forget it. I don’t want to know.
YOU GOTTA LOVE APHRODITE
NO, SERIOUSLY. That’s an order. See, Aphrodite had a magical belt that could make anyone fall in love with her on sight. If you saw her and she wanted you to love her, you would.
Me, I’m lucky. I’ve seen her, but I guess she wasn’t interested in winning my praise or whatever. So I still hate her guts.
Some of you are thinking, OMG! She’s so pretty! Why do you hate her?
Clearly, you haven’t met the lady.
She was trouble from the moment she crawled out of the sea. And I mean she literally crawled out of the sea.
Aphrodite didn’t have parents. Way back when Kronos dumped the chopped-up bits of Ouranos into the sea, the sky god’s immortal blood mixed with the salt water and formed a frothy patch that solidified into a goddess.
In other words, Aphrodite was born in the wake of the first murder, which tells you something about her true nature.
After drifting through the Mediterranean for a while, looking for a good place to come ashore, she finally decided on the island of Cyprus. This was a relief to the dolphins and fish, because the floating naked goddess with the glowing aura was starting to freak them out.
Aphrodite rose from the sea and walked across the beach. Flowers blossomed at her feet. Birds gathered in the nearby branches to sing sweet songs. Little bunny rabbits and squirrels and ferrets and other critters frolicked all around her. It was like a Disney cartoon.
Describing Aphrodite is hard, because she was the most beautiful woman in creation. That could mean different things to different people. Blonde, brunette, or redhead? Fair complexion or dark? Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes? Take your pick. Just picture the most attractive woman you can possibly imagine, and that’s what she looked like. Her appearance would change to appeal to each person who gazed upon her.
That day, the three Horai, the goddesses of the seasons, happened to be meeting on Cyprus—maybe planning which products would get placed in the “seasonal” aisle at the grocery store. I’m not sure.
They saw Aphrodite walking toward them and completely forgot everything else.
“Oh, wow, you’re beautiful!” said Summer.
“I am?” asked Aphrodite, though she already knew it. She just wanted to hear them say it.
“Dazzling!” said Spring. “We should take you to meet the Olympian gods.”
“There are other gods?” Aphrodite was amazed. “I’m the goddess of love and beauty. What would you need other gods for?”
Autumn and Spring exchanged a wary look.
“Uh…a bunch of stuff,” Autumn said. “But we should get you dressed before we take you to Olympus. Aren’t you cold?”
“No,” Aphrodite said. “Why would I cover myself?”
Autumn wanted to scream: Because you’re too freaking gorgeous and you’re making the rest of us feel bad!
Instead she said, “If you appear like that, you’ll drive the gods insane with desire. I mean…they will literally go insane.”
“Oh.” Aphrodite pouted. “But I didn’t bring a thing to wear.”
The Horai took care of that. They summoned up some magical clothing and had a fashion show. Spring offered Aphrodite an Easter Bunny costume. Autumn thought Aphrodite would look good as a Halloween witch. Those plans were vetoed. Finally Summer produced a beautiful white gossamer dress. The Horai placed a delicate golden crown on Aphrodite’s head, hung gold earrings in her ears, and draped a gold necklace at the base of her throat.
Aphrodite looked even more amazing with clothes on, which Autumn found infuriating; but the seasonal goddess forced a smile. “Perfect! Let’s get you to Olympus.”
By now you probably know enough about the Olympian gods to figure out what happened when Aphrodite showed up.
The women were immediately, like: I hate her.
The guys fell all over themselves, tripping on their tongues and trying not to drool.
“It would be my honor to marry you,” said Apollo, god of poetry and archery.
“No, my honor!” barked Ares, god of war.
“My honor!” yelled Poseidon.
“You’re already married,” Zeus snapped. “It would be my honor.”
“You’re already married!” Hera protested. “To me!”
“Curses!” said Zeus. “Er, I mean, of course, dear.”
The gods argued and shoved each other and offered Aphrodite various gifts for her hand in marriage. Poseidon conveniently forgot his wife Amphitrite and promised the love goddess all the seafood she could eat, a bunch of horses, and a set of his-and-hers matching tridents.
Apollo made up some bad haiku in her honor and vowed to give Aphrodite free archery lessons.
Ares offered to take her on a romantic chariot ride over the crushed lifeless bodies of his foes.
The other goddesses got disgusted. They started yelling at the men to grow up and stop acting like fools.
The entire Olympian council was on the verge of civil war. Meanwhile, Aphrodite just stood there batting her eyelashes, like: All this fuss for little old me? But inside she was loving it.
F
inally, Hera stepped back, took a deep breath, and realized that her godly family was about to unravel. Being the goddess of family life, Hera couldn’t allow that, even if half the time she wanted to strangle the other gods herself.
She glanced at the far corner of the throne room, where one god was not participating in the argument. He sat in the shadows, quiet and dejected, knowing he had no chance of competing for Aphrodite.
Hera smiled. She had an idea, and I can tell you from personal experience that when Hera gets an idea, you should run away ASAP.
She raised her arms and yelled, “SILENCE!”
The gods were so startled, they stopped fighting.
“I have a solution,” Hera said. “As the goddess of marriage, I am responsible for picking the best husband for our dear new friend Aphrodite. I’m sure my husband Lord Zeus will support my decision…with force, if necessary.”
“I will?” Zeus said. “I mean…yes, dear. Of course I will!”
“Well, then?” Ares asked. “And may I just say, Mother, that you look beautiful today. Who will marry Aphrodite?”
“My son…” Hera began.
Ares beamed with joy.
Then Hera pointed to the opposite side of the room. “Hephaestus, the blacksmith god.”
Hephaestus was so surprised that he fell off his throne, his crutches clattering across the floor.
As he struggled to get up, Ares exploded: “What?! How can that be married to this?”
He gestured to the radiant Aphrodite, who was staring in horror at the blacksmith god, with his twisted legs, his misshapen face, his stained coveralls, and the remains of several meals in the whiskers of his beard.
“They’re perfect together,” Hera said. “A beautiful woman needs a hardworking, plainspoken, no-nonsense husband to keep her grounded!”
I’m pretty sure that’s the first time the word grounded was ever used to mean a punishment.
“Besides,” Hera continued, “Aphrodite must get married right away, or the fighting over her will never end. We can’t allow the council of the gods to be in chaos over a woman. Can we, Lord Zeus?”
“Hmm?” Zeus was distracted, studying Aphrodite’s lovely arms. “Oh! No, indeed, my dear. You’re absolutely right.”
Athena stood, her gray eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. And I am, after all, the goddess of wisdom.”
“Yes!” Demeter chimed in. “Aphrodite deserves a good husband like Hephaestus.”
The male gods stopped grumbling. They all wanted to marry Aphrodite, but they had to admit Hera was right. If any decent god married her, the other guys would never stop fighting about it and feeling offended. But if Aphrodite married Hephaestus…well, he was a joke. They couldn’t be jealous of him.
Besides, if Aphrodite was stuck in an unhappy marriage, that opened up all sorts of possibilities for becoming her secret boyfriend.
“It’s decided, then,” Zeus said. “Hephaestus, come here!”
The blacksmith god staggered over. His face was the color of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.
“Hephaestus, do you take this woman, et cetera?” Zeus asked.
Hephaestus cleared his throat. “My lady Aphrodite, I know I’m not, um, very handsome….”
Aphrodite didn’t respond. She was too busy trying to look beautiful and revolted at the same time, which wasn’t easy.
“I’m not much of a dancer.” Hephaestus’s metal leg braces creaked. “I’m not witty or charming. And I don’t smell very good. But I promise to be a loving husband. I’m handy at fixing things around the house, and if you ever need a lug wrench, or a power sander—”
“Urgh,” Aphrodite said, swallowing her nausea.
“Well, that’s good enough for me!” Zeus said. “I now pronounce you husband and wife!”
So Aphrodite married Hephaestus and the celebrity ship Aphrophaestus completely dominated Olympian tabloid news for like a thousand years.
Did they live happily ever after?
HAHAHAHAHA. No.
Aphrodite stayed away from her husband as much as possible. They never had any kids. Aphrodite had plenty of children…just not with Hephaestus. Immediately after getting married, she started an affair with Ares, the god of war, which became the worst kept secret on Mount Olympus.
When she wasn’t busy sneaking around behind her husband’s back, Aphrodite spent her time making all the other gods and mortals miserable—uh, I mean, helping them discover the joys of love!
Aphrodite took her place among the Olympians as the goddess of beauty, pleasure, sweet-talk, telenovelas, steamy romance novels, and (of course) love. When she had to travel, she rode in a golden chariot pulled by a flock of snowy doves, though sometimes when the gods went to war, Aphrodite rode with her boyfriend Ares in his war chariot and even held the reins while he was busy killing people.
She had a bunch of attendants called erotes—miniature winged love gods. Their leader was Eros, son of Aphrodite, who was the god of physical attraction and Aphrodite’s hit man. Whenever she wanted somebody to fall madly in love, she sent Eros to shoot the poor schmuck with a magic arrow. Later on, Eros became known as Cupid. He still shows up on those cheesy Valentine’s Day displays. He might sound silly, but if Aphrodite sends him after you, it’s no joke. He can make you fall in love with anyone.
If Aphrodite likes you, she might cause you to fall for somebody attractive and nice. If Aphrodite is angry, she might make you fall in love with the most repulsive person you know, or a toy poodle, or a telephone pole.
Aphrodite’s favorite trick was to make someone fall in love with a person who didn’t love them back. She thought that was the best fun ever. If you’ve ever had a crush on somebody who didn’t notice you, that’s Aphrodite fault. I guess the goddess figured that way, more people would pray to her, like: Oh, please, let him/her notice me! I’ll sacrifice a nice box of chocolates to you, I promise!
Actually, they didn’t have chocolate in Ancient Greece, but Aphrodite was fond of apples. That was her sacred fruit, maybe because it was pretty and sweet, just like her. (Insert gagging sound here.)
She had dozens of other sacred plants and animals and stuff, some of which made sense; some not so much. The rose was one of her flowers, which is why we still use it as a romantic gift. She also liked daffodils, and…wait for it…lettuce. Yep. That incredibly romantic roughage was considered Aphrodite’s sacred salad ingredient. There’s a reason for that, which we’ll get to it in a second. But if someday you’re tossing a Caesar salad and you start feeling lovey-dovey as you shred romaine lettuce, now you’ll know why.
Aphrodite’s sacred stone was the pearl, since it comes from the sea, just like Aphrodite.
Her favorite animals were the rabbit (because they have lots and lots and lots of baby bunnies!) and the goose, which you’ll sometimes see pictures of Aphrodite riding sidesaddle.
Why a goose? Dunno. It must’ve been a big goose.
All I know is, if I ever saw Aphrodite riding one, I’d bust out laughing. Then she’d probably curse me, and I’d end up engaged to a ’72 Impala or something.
Aphrodite was a popular goddess because everyone wanted love, but she didn’t always get along with mortals or her fellow gods.
For instance, one time she got jealous of Athena because everyone was praising her weaving skills.
Aphrodite didn’t like it when the spotlight was on anyone except her.
“Oh, weaving is nothing,” Aphrodite said. “I could do that if I wanted to.”
“Really?” Athena smiled. “Care to challenge me?”
Never heard about the great weaving contest between Athena and Aphrodite? That’s because it wasn’t so great. It was a disaster.
The goddess of love knew nothing about weaving. She wasn’t Athena or even Arachne. She’d never made anything with her own two hands except troub
le.
While Athena wove a beautiful tapestry, Aphrodite managed to get herself wrapped in thread, with her foot tied to the stool and her head stuck in the loom.
“I don’t like weaving, anyway!” she huffed as her husband Hephaestus cut her free.
From then on, Aphrodite tried not to criticize the other goddesses. In fact, she even helped them sometimes.
I mentioned her magical belt? Sometimes it’s called a girdle, because she would wear it under her dress so guys wouldn’t realize they were being bewitched. But it wasn’t a girdle like one of those ugly fabric-and-steel wraps that squeeze the fat in. Aphrodite’s belt was a delicate sash embroidered with scenes of courtship and romance and beautiful people doing beautiful things. (Obviously, Aphrodite didn’t embroider it herself or it would’ve looked like a kindergarten project.)
Anyway, Hera once asked to borrow it, which took guts, considering they didn’t get along too well.
“Oh, dear Aphrodite,” Hera said, “would you do me a huge favor?”
Aphrodite smiled prettily. “Of course, my wonderful mother-in-law! After everything you’ve done for me? How could I refuse?”
Hera’s eye twitched. “Great. I’d like to borrow your magical belt.”
Aphrodite leaned in close. “Got a thing for some handsome mortal?”
“No!” Hera blushed furiously. She was the goddess of marriage. She never cheated! She managed to calm herself. “I mean…no, of course not. Zeus and I had an argument. He’s being impossible, refusing to talk to me or even be in the same room. But if I wore your belt—”
“You would be irresistible!” Aphrodite agreed. “Oh, dear mother-in-law, I’m so glad you came to me for help. I’ve been wanting to offer you some beauty tips for a while now, but I didn’t want to overstep my bounds. It must be hard being such a matronly goddess without looking…matronly.”
Hera gritted her teeth. “Yes, well…the belt?”
Aphrodite lent Hera the magic love girdle, and Hera had no trouble getting Zeus to make up with her. The way the poet Homer put it, she “beguiled his brain.” Personally, I don’t like having my brain beguiled. But in case you’re feeling bad for Zeus, don’t.