by Rick Riordan
He limped into the living room, where Aphrodite was reading the latest steamy romance novel.
“Honey, I’m going to Lemnos!” Hephaestus announced. “I may be there for a few days.”
“Oh?” Aphrodite looked up from her novel. “A few days, you say?”
“Yep. Miss you. Bye!”
Aphrodite grinned. “Okay. Have fun!”
Hephaestus packed his toolbox, saddled the donkey, and headed out. Meanwhile, Ares was watching from a nearby balcony. Once the war god was satisfied that Hephaestus really was leaving for Lemnos, he rushed down to the blacksmith’s apartment, where Aphrodite was waiting.
“Hey, baby,” Ares said. “Miss me?”
They retired to the bedroom, but they didn’t have time to get very naughty. As soon as they stripped down to their undies and jumped into bed, the trap was sprung.
The golden net fell on them and stuck like flypaper. The two gods struggled and shrieked. Seriously, Ares had a higher-pitched scream than Aphrodite. But they were plastered to the bed, unable to move or change form.
Hephaestus, who had doubled back, burst into the bedroom with an ax in his hands.
“Daddy’s home,” he snarled.
He contemplated getting all Kronos on them and turning the bedroom into a horror movie scene, but he decided against it. To Hephaestus’s mind, there was nothing more shocking and embarrassing than leaving the lovers as they were—trapped in the act of cheating, Aphrodite with her makeup smeared and her hair messed up, her limbs flattened awkwardly against the bed like she’d hit a car windshield. Screaming and whimpering next to her, Ares wore nothing but a pair of red socks and his G.I. Joe boxer shorts.
Hephaestus marched into the Olympian throne room, where the gods were assembling for lunch.
“Don’t eat yet,” he told everyone. “I have something to show you, and it’ll probably make you hurl.”
Intrigued, the gods followed him back to the bedroom, where they stared at the new piece of performance art Hephaestus had created.
“You see?” Hephaestus demanded. “This is what I get for trying to be a good husband. The moment I’m gone, these two start with their hanky-panky. My own wife hates me because I’m crippled and ugly, so she sneaks around behind my back with—with this fool. It makes me sick. It makes me want to throw up. Isn’t this the most disgusting thing you’ve ever seen?”
The other gods were silent. Hermes started trembling, trying to keep it together.
Zeus said to himself, I’m not going to laugh. I’m not going to laugh.
Then he caught Demeter’s eye, and it was all over.
“BWA! BWA-HA!” He doubled over, chortling so hard, he thought his ribs would break. All the other gods joined in.
“G.I. Joe boxers!” Apollo screamed. “OH—oh, I can’t even…HAHAHAHAHA!”
“Aphrodite,” Athena giggled. “You look simply lovely.”
The gods couldn’t stop laughing. Soon they were rolling on the floor, wiping tears from their eyes, taking photos with their phones to post on Tumblr.
At first, Hephaestus was furious. He wanted to yell at them to take this seriously. He was in pain. He was humiliated!
Then he took a deep breath and realized: no, Aphrodite and Ares were humiliated. The other gods would be telling this tale for centuries. Every time the two lovers walked into the throne room, the Olympians would smirk and try not to laugh, remembering Aphrodite’s messed-up hair and Ares’s stupid boxers and red socks. Every time people told embarrassing stories at family get-togethers, this would be Embarrassing Story Number One.
After a long time, the gods managed to collect themselves.
“Okay,” Poseidon said, wiping his eyes. “That was hilarious. But you should let them go now, Hephaestus.”
“No,” Hephaestus grumbled. “Why not leave them here on permanent display?”
Zeus cleared his throat. “Hephaestus, I thought we’d decided not to tie each other up anymore. You’ve had your revenge. Now release them.”
Hephaestus glared at his father. “All right. Aphrodite can go…as soon as you repay all the gifts I made for her dowry. I don’t want her in my apartment anymore. I don’t want her in my life. She’s not worthy of being my wife.”
Zeus turned pale. Back in those days, if you wanted to marry a woman, you had to give her family a bunch of presents called a dowry. Since Aphrodite didn’t technically have a dad, Zeus had given her away, which meant he got all the cool Hephaestus-made swag. If Hephaestus demanded the dowry back, that meant the marriage was over. It also meant Zeus would have to give back the bronze toaster, the set of golf clubs, the plasma-screen TV, and a bunch of other fun toys.
“Uh…well,” Zeus said, “I suppose Aphrodite could stay in the net.”
“Zeus!” Hera chided. She didn’t like Aphrodite, but she also didn’t approve of goddesses being imprisoned.
“All right, all right,” Zeus said. “Hephaestus can have the dowry back. Aphrodite is officially kicked out of Hephaestus’s life.”
“Like she was ever in it,” Hephaestus muttered.
Poseidon still looked troubled. Despite his past differences with Ares, the two of them usually got along okay. He felt like he should speak up for the war god, since no one else would.
“You need to let Ares go too,” Poseidon said. “It’s only right.”
“Right?” Hephaestus bellowed. “He made me a fool in my own bedroom, and you want to talk about right?”
“Look,” Poseidon said, “I get it. But ask any price to settle the debt. I will personally vouch for Ares. He will pay it.”
Ares made a whimpering sound, but he didn’t dare object. The golden net was really starting to chafe his delicate skin.
“All right,” Hephaestus said. “If Poseidon guarantees payment, I’m good with that. I want a hundred wagonloads of the best armor, weapons, and war spoils from Ares’s fortress, and I get to pick the stuff.”
That was a punishing price, because Ares loved his spoils of war, but he nodded in agreement.
Hephaestus let the two lovers go. As he expected, the story got told and retold around the Olympian dining table for centuries, so Ares and Aphrodite were the butt of everybody’s jokes. Aphrodite and Hephaestus never lived together again. Were they technically divorced? I don’t know. But it’s not like they were ever married in anything but name.
Afterward, Hephaestus felt free to have relationships with other women. He had kids with a lot of them. Also, from then on he hated the children Aphrodite and Ares had had together, even if they didn’t deserve it….
Case in point: Harmonia. I mentioned her before. She was the minor goddess who became a mortal and married that king Cadmus, and later they both got turned into snakes.
As if that wasn’t enough bad luck for one lifetime, Harmonia also got a cursed wedding present from Hephaestus. He hated her, because she was a constant reminder of Aphrodite’s affair with Ares. Not like that was Harmonia’s fault, but hey, even the nicer gods like Hephaestus could be jerks.
When Harmonia married Cadmus, Hephaestus made her a golden necklace as a wedding present. It was the most beautiful piece of jewelry you can imagine, all dripping with precious jewels in delicate golden lace, but it was also hexed with some serious juju. It brought bad luck to Harmonia (which is kind of obvious, since she got turned into a snake), but it also got passed down to her descendants. Everyone who wore that necklace for generations had some horrible tragedy happen to them. We won’t go into the details, but it shows you that Hephaestus had a dark side. If you ever find one of his necklaces, be sure to check the engraving. If it says, Congratulations, Harmonia!, throw that thing away.
After Aphrodite, Hephaestus’s first rebound relationship was with this goddess named Aglaia. She was one of the Charities. And by Charity, I don’t mean Goodwill or the Salvation Army. The Charities were thr
ee divine sisters in charge of grace and pleasure. They served as Aphrodite’s handmaidens, so it must have really irritated Aphrodite when Hephaestus started dating one of them.
Like, Yeah, I dumped you, and I’m going out with your handmaiden. Deal with it.
Anyway, Hephaestus and Algaia had a several godly daughters.
Then Hephaestus dated a bunch of mortal princesses and had a slew of demigod kids who became kings of this or that Greek city.
He even had a fling with a nymph named Etna, who was the goddess of Mount Etna over in Sicily. If you’re keeping track, that’s the mountain Zeus used to smash Typhoeus the storm giant. I’m not sure why Hephaestus wanted to date a slightly smashed mountain nymph, but they had some children together called the palikoi, who were the spirits of hot springs and geysers. If you ever go to Yellowstone Park to see Old Faithful doing its thing, be sure to yell, “Hephaestus says hello! Call your dad more often, ya bum!”
Hephaestus’s most interesting kids were twin boys he had with a sea nymph named Kabeiro. They were called the Kabeiroi, after their mother, but their real names were Alkon and Eurymedon. (And no, you will not have to remember that for the test. If your teacher says different, your teacher is WRONG.)
The Kaberoi were a lot like Hephaestus, meaning they were good at metalwork and incredibly ugly. Sometimes they’re described as dwarfs, though maybe they just looked small next to their dad. They would help out around his forges in Lemnos and even go to war in his name. Once they rode east with Dionysus when he marched to India. Then they got in trouble, and Hephaestus had to rescue them.
You didn’t know the wine god had declared war on India? Sure. We’ll get to that in a bit. But right now, I feel like some poetry.
You feel like poetry? No?
Well, TOO BAD. Apollo is getting impatient. He wants me to write his chapter, and since he’s the coolest Olympian god (even if he does say so himself), you can only put off the Golden Boy for so long.
APOLLO SINGS AND DANCES AND SHOOTS PEOPLE
YOU HAVE TO PITY APOLLO’S MOM.
Being pregnant is hard enough. (Not that I would know, but my mom has told me about a million times.) Apollo’s mother, the Titan Leto, was pregnant with twins, and she couldn’t go to the hospital when she went into labor. Instead she had to run for her life, rushing from island to island, pursued by a vengeful goddess and a giant snake.
Would it surprise you to learn that the whole thing was Zeus’s fault?
Old Thunderbritches fell in love with Leto and convinced her it would be totally fine to have kids together.
“Hera will never find out!” he promised.
Zeus had told that lie to so many different women, he probably even believed it.
Of course, Hera found out. She glared down from Mount Olympus at the beautiful pregnant Leto, who was glowing with health, sitting in a meadow and patting her swollen tummy, singing to her unborn children.
Hera grumbled to herself, “How dare she be happy? Let’s see how happy she is in eternal pain!” The Queen of Heaven spread her arms and addressed the entire earth below her. “Hear me, world! Hear me, Mother Gaea! I forbid any land with roots in the earth to receive Leto when it is time for her to give birth. Any land that dares to oppose me, I will curse for all eternity! Leto will have no bed to lie in, no place to rest! She will be forced to wander without a place to give birth, she will stay pregnant and in labor forever, suffering for the crime of taking my husband! HAHAHA!”
Yeah, Hera was definitely channeling her inner Wicked Witch of the West that day. The ground rumbled. All the nature spirits on every land with roots in the earth promised not to help Leto. Now, you’re wondering, why couldn’t Leto just buy a boat and give birth at sea? Why couldn’t she go underwater, or down into Erebos, or rent a helicopter and give birth one thousand feet in the air?
Near as I can figure, Hera included all that in the curse. She created an impossible situation, where Leto could only give birth on solid ground, but all solid ground was forbidden to accept her. Hera was tricky that way.
When Leto was seven months pregnant, she went into early labor.
“Oh, great,” she groaned. “These kids aren’t going to wait!”
She tried to lie down, but the earth shook. Trees burst into flame. Fissures opened in the ground, and Leto had to run for safety. No matter where she moved, she couldn’t find a safe place to rest. She took a boat to another island, but the same thing happened. She tried a dozen different places all over Greece and beyond. In each spot, the nymphs refused to help her.
“Sorry,” they said. “Hera will curse us for all eternity if we let you come ashore. You can’t give birth on any land with roots in the earth.”
“But that means every land!” Leto protested.
“Yeah, that’s the idea,” the nymphs told her.
Leto drifted from place to place, her body racked with pain, her unborn children getting more and more impatient. Leto felt like she’d swallowed an overinflated beach ball and a couple of feral cats.
In desperation, she went to Delphi, which had once been her mother Phoebe’s sacred place. Leto figured the Oracle would give her sanctuary.
Unfortunately, the Oracle’s cave had been taken over by a giant snake called Python. Where did he come from? You’ll love this. The word python is from the Greek pytho, which means rotting. The monster Python was born out of the festering, rotten slime left over from the great flood when Zeus drowned the world. Tasty!
Anyway, Python had moved into the area and told himself, Hey, this is a nice cave. Lots of juicy mortals to eat! Python proceeded to swallow the priests and the soothsayers and the pilgrims who came looking for aid. Then he coiled up for a nap.
When Leto visited, she was shocked to find a hundred-foot-long snake as thick as a school bus hanging out in her mother’s favorite holy place.
“Who are you?” Leto demanded.
“I am Python,” said Python. “And you must be breakfast.”
The snake lunged at her. Leto fled, but she looked so appetizing, being plump and pregnant and slow, that Python pursued her for miles. A couple of times he almost caught her. Leto barely made it back to her boat.
Where was Zeus this whole time? Hiding. Hera was in a royal snit, and Zeus didn’t want to be the target of her wrath, so he let Leto take all the heat. Nice guy.
Leto kept sailing until finally she had a crazy idea. She asked the captain of her ship to sail for the island of Delos.
“But, my lady,” said the captain, “Delos is a floating island! Nobody knows where it is from day to day.”
“JUST FIND IT!” Leto screamed. Labor pain made her eyes glow red with agony.
The captain gulped. “One Delos, coming right up!”
Several nerve-racking days later, they found the place. It looked like a normal island—beaches, hills, trees, etc.—but Delos wasn’t attached to the earth. It floated on the waves like a giant life preserver, drifting around the Mediterranean, occasionally pinballing off other islands or running over unsuspecting whales.
As the ship got closer, Leto forced herself to stand at the bow. She was in so much pain, she could hardly think; but she called out to the main nature spirit of the island: “Oh, great Delos, you alone can help me! Please let me come ashore and give birth on your island!”
The island rumbled. A voice echoed from the hills: “Hera will be royally ticked off if I do that.”
“She can’t hurt you!” Leto yelled. “Her curse specified any land with roots in the earth. You don’t have roots! Besides, once my children are born, they will protect you. Two Olympian gods on your side. Think about that. Delos will become their holy place. You will have great temples of your own. You can finally settle down in one spot. The tourism alone will make you millions!”
Delos thought about that. The island was tired of drifting around. The forest nymp
hs were getting seasick from constantly bobbing on the waves.
“All right,” said the voice. “Come ashore.”
As soon as Leto found a spot to lie down, the whole world trembled with anticipation. It’s not every day that two new Olympian gods are born. All the goddesses—except, of course, Hera—rushed to Leto’s side to help her give birth.
Leto had two beautiful babies—a boy named Apollo, and a girl named Artemis. They were born on the seventh day of the seventh month, when Leto was seven months pregnant, so their holy number was thirteen. (Just kidding. It was seven.)
We’ll talk about Artemis in a bit, but Apollo wasted no time taking the spotlight. As soon as he’d tasted nectar from his baby bottle, he hopped out of his mother’s arms, stood on his own two feet, and grinned.
“’Sup, folks?” he said. “My name’s Apollo, and I need a bow and arrows, stat! Also, a musical instrument would be good. Has anybody invented the lyre yet?”
The goddesses looked at each other in confusion. Even the Olympians were not used to grinning babies who spoke in complete sentences and demanded weapons.
“Erm, I’ve never heard of a lyre,” Demeter admitted.
In fact, the lyre would be invented later, but that’s another story.
Apollo shrugged. “Fine. A guitar will do. Or a ukulele. Just not a banjo, please. I don’t do banjos.”
The goddesses rushed off to find what the kid wanted. Hephaestus made him a beautiful golden bow and a quiver of magic arrows. The best musical instrument they could come up with was a keras, which was like a trumpet.
By the time the goddesses returned to Delos, Apollo had grown so much he looked like a five-year-old, though he wasn’t even one day old. He had long golden hair, a super-bronze tan, and eyes that shone like the sun. He’d found himself a Greek robe woven from gold, so he was almost too flashy to look at.
He slung the bow and quiver over his shoulders and grabbed the keras. He played a beautiful melody on the trumpet, then began to sing a cappella.