Ambrosia
Stephen Brooke
Apollo was to blame.
He was late getting to his sun-chariot that morning and took a slice
of ambrosia along, to breakfast on as he drove his steeds across the
sky. So it was a crumb, so slight a crumb, fell to the earth of
mortals.
“It looks like
honey,” said Glaucus. He sniffed at the golden crumb. “Smells
like it too. Sort of.”
His wife was
skeptical. “When has honey fallen from the sky?”
Glaucus was ever the
sort to come up with a ready answer, whether sensible or
preposterous. “Bees do fly,” he said. “Perhaps a very large
bee, a gigantic bee—”
This idea made
Astyoche uncomfortable. The stings of bees of ordinary size were
quite bad enough! She could imagine herself swelling up like a ripe
pomegranate if stung by an enormous one. The woman warily scanned the
skies above them.
“Hmmph.” Only
the sun, riding above the scattered clouds. For all she—or
Glaucus—knew it could have fallen from there. Astyoche knew better
than to mention that idea to her husband. Rather, she asked a
practical question. “So, do you think this honey-stuff is safe to
eat?”
“You could try it
and find out for yourself,” replied Glaucus.
“No, my fine
husband, it would be better if you tasted it,” came his wife’s
immediate reply.
At that very moment,
a mongrel dog, both scrawny and scroungy, aimlessly wandered into
their yard. Glacus watched as it sat scratching at fleas somewhere
among its protruding ribs. “I know,” said he. “We’ll try some
out on Hector.”
The tiniest of
pieces he broke off and held it out in his palm. “Here, boy. A
treat for you.” The mutt cringed at the voice and gave him the most
suspicious of looks but finally came over, tail between his legs, to
lick up the proffered food.
Hector sat back on
his haunches and gave the pair of humans a long look, before saying,
“My! I haven’t felt this good since I was a pup.”
“I didn’t know
you could speak,” said the astonished Astyoche. Glaucus only
stared, mouth agape.
“Neither did I. In
fact, I don’t know why I never did before.”
“He’s getting
bigger,” muttered Glaucus.
Yes, bigger, better
looking—there was no denying it. His coat had grown thick and
luxuriant, his tail curled most extravagantly. Now Hector eyed the
chunk of ambrosia in his master’s hand.
Glaucus was not sure
he could keep this alarmingly transformed canine from taking it.
“Into the cottage, woman,” he hissed to his wife. “Quickly!”
Door shut and bolted
behind them, Glaucus listened to Hector snuffling and scratching.
Would those flimsy boards hold? He should have repaired them long
ago. The whole house wouldn’t hold up to any serious effort to
breach its walls. There had never been any reason to worry about that
as the couple never had anything worth taking. Until this morning.
“We should split
it right now,” stated Astyoche. “And don’t you think of giving
me a smaller piece than yours!”
Glaucus had been
thinking of just that, to be sure. He looked at his wife’s
expression—and the heavy piece of firewood she had picked up—and
rethought.
“Quickly!” she
hissed. “The door is giving in.”
Indeed, it was
bowing inward somewhat more than it should. At once, he broke the
crumb in two, as evenly as he could, and handed half to his wife.
Both swallowed their pieces down.
“My, that warms
one,” said Astyoche.
“Doesn’t taste
bad either.” It was something like honey but also something
quite different. Glaucus couldn’t quite put his finger on the
difference and, moreover, he was distracted by the sudden changes in
the woman he had married. She’d never been that tall!
He felt his own
tunic growing tight and beginning to tear. He was further distracted
when the door suddenly buckled and gave in. A wolfhound-sized Hector
stood in its warped frame, cocking his head at the two. “So you’ve
eaten it all, eh? Oh, well.” The dog lifted his muzzle and sniffed.
“Hmm, there seem to be several bitches in heat within a league or
two. They won’t be turning me down this time!” He wheeled and
bounded away, howling heartily.
Glaucus’s
attention returned to his wife. Was that Astyoche? A goddess stood
before him! He felt quite like howling heartily himself!
Let it be said the
couple paid little attention to anything other than each other for
the next couple of hours. “This makes up for the honeymoon,”
Astyoche finally declared. That had been a disappointment and she had
never hesitated to let Glaucus know it.
He had similar
sentiments but had known better than to express them. “I’m
ravenous,” he said. “I wonder where we can get more of that
stuff.”
Astyoche felt
decidedly hungry herself. “I’d go for some normal food.” There
was little of that in their hovel. There was none at all a minute or
two later. “There is always the pig,” the woman suggested.
Glaucus was fond of
their sow and, moreover, considered her an investment. It didn’t
feel right to eat her now. Maybe later. “I’d prefer some beef,”
he told his wife.
“The king has
plenty.”
That was all the
encouragement Glaucus needed. He wheeled and headed out the doorway,
his head crashing into the lintel. “Ouch! How did that get so low?”
“It is you who got
so large, husband,” Astyoche told him. She looked him up and down,
rather appreciatively. “Oh, I don’t think we have any clothes
that fit anymore!”
“So who’s going
to complain?” he asked and set off toward the king’s fields.
It is most unlikely
anyone who saw two towering, nude demigods pass by recognized them as
their neighbors Astyoche and Glaucus. And none complained. To just
whom could they?
The cowherds did not
complain either when Glaucus threw a young bullock across his
shoulders and carried it off. They were only slaves. Let the king’s
soldiers tend to this sort of problem.
Those, however,
cowered inside old Nisos’s keep, only peeping over the ramparts
until the couple was a safe distance away. Then they sallied forth
with a great deal of noise, clashing their spears against their
bronze shields and bemoaning the fact that their adversaries had
retreated, depriving them of their glory.
Nisos was not
fooled. But that is a different tale.
Astyoche was busy
barbecuing the rear half of the purloined bull—the front portion
being saved for breakfast—when a tremendously loud buzzing began.
She remembered her earlier fear of enormous bees and looked about
with some concern. Sure enough, a great striped insect was descending
toward them.
It alighted near the
couple and transformed into a demure and not at all diminutive
maiden. She still had gauzy wings attached.
“Hi! I’m Mellisa
the Messenger! The Busy Bee of the gods!” She gave the pair a
looking over. “We’ve gotten into some ambrosia, haven’t we?”
“Is that what it
was?” wondered Glaucus.
Astyoche had a more
practical question. “Are we immortal now?”
“Oh, you need
nektar too for that. Ambrosia keeps you youthful and strong and
beautiful. Nektar makes you immortal. One without the other would be
no good! Who would want to be stooped and wrinkled when they were
only a million years old?”
“Better than being
dead,” muttered Glaucus.
At that moment,
Hector came bounding out of the dusk, wagging his tail in a most
satisfied manner.
“Oh, hello doggy,”
said Melissa, scratching him behind an over-sized ear. “Are you a
good boy?”
“Not today!”
came Hector’s cheerful response. He cocked his head, looking over
her wings. “You fly? Do you know the big dog in the sky? I
sometimes see her at night and wonder if she’s lonely.”
“Well, little dog,
maybe you’d like to go up in the sky yourself and keep her company?
You would be fed ambrosia every day.”
The hound’s tail
wagged even more vigorously. “Sound good to me!” He turned an eye
skyward. “I wonder if I can jump that high.”
“No need,” said
Melissa, letting out a buzzy laugh. “I’ll take you up later.”
That, of course, is
how the constellation we know as Canis Minor ended up in the southern
sky, ever in pursuit of Canis Major or, as Hector calls her, the Big
Bitch. He chased her so far she can’t even be seen from Greece
anymore.
“As for you two,”
she went on, turning her attention back to Astyoche and Glaucus, “I’m
afraid you’ll need to remain earthbound.”
“Will this—wear
off?” asked Astyoche.
“I’m afraid
that, too, is so. Not quickly. Some effects will linger all your
lives.”
“Linger?”
“Yes. It has a
long half-life.”
Glaucus nodded
wisely though he had no idea what a ‘half-life’ was.
“Well, come along,
boy,” called Melissa, as she turned back into a bee. Cradled in her
six legs, Hector howled a goodbye and was carried away. It is
doubtful he ever missed his former master and mistress.
Those watched the
great insect dwindle and disappear in the sky. Astyoche turned to her
husband. “We’ll have to find a way of getting more, you know.”
“Absolutely,” he
agreed.
The next morning
they were noticeably shorter, though their old clothes still did not
begin to fit. Moreover, they were unable to consume more than a
quarter of the bullock for breakfast.
Neither questioned
what their course should be. “Which way to Olympus?” asked
Astyoche.
“North.” And so
they set out. The couple made good time at first.
“I’m not feeling
as strong,” complained Glaucus after a while.
“Me neither. Let’s
rest over there.” His wife pointed toward a cave in the hillside.
It looked like a pleasant-enough spot, with tall cypress standing
about its entrance.
They might have
known a well-tended cave was already occupied. A venerable centaur,
white hair and beard hanging to his withers, greeted them. “Welcome,
travelers!” He squinted at them, seemingly puzzled, before slipping
on a pair of spectacles and squinting again. “I say, not quite the
ordinary run of travelers, are we?”
Astyoche and Glaucus
were astounded, having neither seen a centaur nor spectacles before.
None the less, the woman announced, “We’re off to Olympus to get
ambrosia.”
“Ah! So that’s
it. I thought for a moment you might be some sort of minor gods. Like
my old buddy Hercules.” Glaucus did not mind at all being compared
to the heroic demigod.
“They won’t let
you in,” continued the centaur. “The gods do not like to share.
And—” He scrutinized the pair again. “I doubt you’ll have
enough left to get you to the top of the mountain anyway. You’d do
better going to Hades.”
The couple could
only give each other perplexed looks at this advice.
“Time no longer
matters in the underworld,” explained their host. “Come on in and
have some wine, won’t you?” They followed him into the roomy but
not overly tidy cavern. The horse half of the centaur apparently knew
nothing of restrooms. “The effect of the ambrosia would not wear
off. I think.” He suddenly seemed doubtful. “Maybe there is
something in my books.”
There were a great
number of those, stacked about the place. Neither Astyoche nor
Glaucus could read, so they didn’t set much store by what might be
in them. As many others, they were suspicious of all things they
didn’t understand.
“Isn’t there any
way we could get more?” asked Astyoche.
“Oh, you could go
where it is made.” He handed each goblets. They were of gold,
encrusted with luminous jewels, emeralds, sapphires, and each worth
more than all the money either mortal had ever seen. That didn’t
interest them at the moment.
“Not on Olympus?”
“Doves carry it to
the gods each day, from beyond the dawn.” That sounded even further
to travel than Olympus. The centaur noted their dejection. “They
fly over here around noon. You might see one if you’ve a sharp
eye.”
Now they did have
sharp eyes, at least for the time being, and could see much further
than before.
“Also, you might
smell it,” said the old centaur. “It is quite fragrant, as you
may have noticed.”
“But how do we get
one of these doves to land?” wondered Glaucus. His eye strayed to
the powerful centaur bow hanging on the cave wall.
“Oh no, none of
that my boy! The gods would be likely to strap you to a mountain top
for the vultures to consume. Old Prometheus isn’t the only one
they’ve done that to, you know.”
“I have a way,”
announced Astyoche. “Come with me, husband.” With a quick
farewell and thank you to the centaur, they were back out into the
sun. It was still morning, but barely. They hurried to the top of the
highest hill in the vicinity.
Glaucus sniffed.
“They’re near.” Both scanned the skies.
At once, Astyoche
began cooing. Surprisingly loud she was! Glaucus watched a curious
dove descend toward them, growing larger and larger. And larger—it
was quite enormous. As it hovered above them, trying to figure them
out, he reached up and grasped a tree-like leg. “I’ll hold it
while you get the ambrosia,” he called.
That was not to be.
The huge gray bird began to lift him from the ground. Astyoche barely
had time to leap up and wrap her arms around the other leg.
“Are you two going
to hang onto me all the way to Olympus?” asked the dove.
“It looks that
way,” Glaucus replied. “Or you could set us down with a little of
your cargo.”
“I’d end up as a
pigeon pie for Zeus if I did that. Just hold on, mortals. Or don’t.
I don’t much care.” It winged on toward the mountain of the gods,
following the flock of its fellow columbine couriers.
When the great Mount
Olympus stood before them, the doves rose, up and up, past its
highest peak. “I don’t see any sign of the gods’ home,”
remarked Astyoche.
“They don’t
actually live on the mountain, humans,” said the dove. “An
invisible stairway leads from its summit to their world.”
The line of doves
had climbed into the clouds and disappeared from sight. Having been
delayed by the couple, their own ride was the last. Now the birds
descended toward a gleaming city, with lush green fields and forest
lying about it as far as could be seen. Having a bird’s eye view of
it, that was pretty far.
“Best you just let
yourselves be seen rather than trying to sneak in,” spoke the dove,
“Um, but you might get off me first so no one knows I brought you,
okay?”
“Certainly,”
agreed Astyoche. “We’ve caused you enough trouble.” She and
Glaucus exchanged glances.
“That’s most
unlike you, my dearest,” said her husband.
“It is, isn’t
it? I don’t know what’s come over me.”
They did manage to
slip unnoticed off the dove, screened by its fellows as they lit in a
great colonnaded courtyard. A tall, statuesque woman was keeping
track as each bird was unloaded by a group of scurrying fauns.
She took notice of
them at once when they showed themselves. “So, stowaways? Which one
of these bird-brains brought you here?”
“Beats me,” lied
Glaucus. “They all look the same.”
“They do, don’t
they? If I asked them I could probably find out but it doesn’t
matter to me. And I have a schedule to keep.” She checked off
another load on her tablet. “I’m Hebe. I’m in charge of
distributing the ambrosia.”
“The nektar too?”
asked Astyoche. She hadn’t forgotten it was necessary for
immortality.
“That’s
Ganymede’s job.” The goddess looked the two over. “Don’t let
Zeus see your woman,” she warned. “She’s somewhat attractive at
the moment and that’s enough for him.”
Astyoche wondered
where she could find Zeus and learn if it was true.
“You’re somewhat
attractive yourself,” said Glaucus.
Hebe smiled
tolerantly. “That’s just the ambrosia talking,” she told him.
“It does make one horny at first.”
“For the first
couple thousand years,” interjected one of the satyrs. All his
fellows snickered.
“Oh, you guys are
always horny. Take that load off to the nymphs now, will you? And
don’t dawdle.”
“We never dawdle,”
one assured her.
“So complain the
nymphs. Now, as to you two—how much ambrosia have you consumed so
far?”
“Just a crumb,”
said Astyoche. “About this big.” She held thumb and index finger
an inch or so apart.
“And we shared
that,” Glaucus added.
“Ah. Not nearly
enough to make you dependent. I guess I’d better report you to
someone who can make an immigration decision.”
“You can’t?”
They didn’t like the idea of being passed along through the divine
bureaucracy. They had some knowledge of the mortal version.
“I’m only the
goddess of youth and spring. Ho, you,” she called to a young woman
in shining golden armor passing by. “Go tell your boss about this
pair.”
“Couldn’t we
have a little ambrosia while we wait?” asked Glaucus, in the most
ingratiating tones he could manage.
The goddess gave him
a firm shake of her head. “You’ll have to talk to Athena first.
If you’re approved to stay, come back and I’ll fix you up.”
Neither mortal appeared at all comforted by that assurance. “Don’t
worry, she’s nicer than her reputation makes her out to be. Even if
Zeus is known to refer to her as his headache.”
“Is she, um,
attractive too?” asked Glaucus.
“I would never say
otherwise, remembering what happened to Paris! But she isn’t into
guys.” Noting Astyoche’s immediate interest, she said, “Or
women either. Unlike Artemis.”
They stood watching
Hebe order her little workers about for a while. There wasn’t much
else to see in this big otherwise-empty courtyard. Both wanted to get
out and explore Olympus! “Here she comes,” said the goddess of
spring. “Who’s that with her? Oh, Hestia. That makes sense.”
She turned to them and whispered in an aside, “Both virgins,
officially, but that’s no more than an aspect of Hestia. She’s as
into guys as the next goddess, and always reverts to virginity, well,
after, you know?”
“That must be
handy,” observed Glaucus.
How like a man,
Astyoche thought. Losing ones virginity over and over was surely
uncomfortable.
Athena was at least
a head taller than her companion, who was plump and pretty. Not at
all what either of them expected from a deity. “I’m
disappointed,” murmured Astyoche. “She’s not wearing her
armor.”
This, the tall
goddess of war and brains caught. “That would also be
uncomfortable, little mortal,” she said, her voice perhaps an
octave lower than Glaucus’s. “I only armor up when necessary.”
Had she read
Astyoche’s mind just then? The woman tried to think of nothing and
failed completely.
“That kyrtle does
look comfy,” commented Hebe. “So, both of you are going to decide
on this?”
“It’s Hestia’s
decision, ultimately,” said Athena. “She’s goddess of the
hearth and home, after all.”
“Unless my brother
overrules me,” said Hestia.
“Yes, Dad might do
that. No need for him to know about any of it though, is there?”
she asked. “I’m just here to give advice.” Her gray eyes swept
imperiously across the human couple. “It takes grit to make your
way here. Some smarts too. I admire that.”
“But they don’t
belong,” commented Hestia.
“Yet they have
tasted of ambrosia, right?” Athena looked to Hebe.
“A morsel,” she
admitted. “Not enough to matter. And I do not want to get involved
in this!”
“What would we do
with them?” Hestia asked her companion. “They’d need to have a
place in Olympus. Jobs.” Her gaze went to Hebe who shook her head
vigorously. She wouldn’t be offering them employment.
“They’re only
peasants, I think,” Hestia went on. “You aren’t slaves, are
you?”
“No, ma’am,”
murmured Astyoche.
“We’re free
folk,” spoke Glaucus, his voice only slightly more loud.
Athena nodded
approval. “That’s good. If you belonged to someone, we’d have
to return you.” She chuckled. “But not necessarily alive.”
“Yes,” said the
goddess of the hearth. “We can’t have you going back and
spreading gossip about Olympus, you see. If we don’t let you stay,
we’ll have to—well, dispose of you somehow.”
“I suppose it
probably will come to that,” Athena intoned, with a great deal of
gravity.
“Oh, you silly
things,” exclaimed Hebe, in frustration. She motioned one of the
little fauns to her and whispered into its large hairy ear. It nodded
and scampered off. “Come to my grove,” she told them and marched
away. All four, mortals and goddesses alike, followed.
At last Astyoche and
Glaucus got a look at the wonders of Olympus. “It’s like home,
except better,” Astyoche whispered to her husband. Across fields
and hills of intense green, more vivid, more alive, than any
they had ever known, they traveled.
In the distance,
they heard the baying of hounds and glimpsed figures coursing along
the edge of a great forest. “Who’s that?” asked Glaucus.
Athena gazed toward
them. “Oh, that’s just Artemis and her girl-gang. Don’t get in
their way, little man. Her hounds would as soon tear you apart as a
stag.”
Perhaps this wasn’t
such a good place to be, after all, he thought.
Hebe’s grove was
just that—and more. There was a small house, or temple maybe.
Astyoche wasn’t sure which word one should use for a god’s abode.
Fruit trees bearing both scented blooms and ripe fruit. Deep, vibrant
lawns, brilliant flowers scattered throughout. It was quite lovely,
she felt. She wouldn’t mind living right here.
“Maybe I could get
on as one of her gardeners,” whispered Glaucus. It seemed like a
pretty good idea to her right then. They all seated themselves on the
luxuriant grass, as soft as any cushion. The songs of birds sounded
all around, more musical than ever they had heard, and the more
distant maahs and baahs of sheep.
“What you need is
some nektar,” Hebe announced. She held up a hand of warning when
the other goddesses looked ready to raise objections. A faun trotted
up and handed her a stone jar. Hebe carefully allowed no more than a
couple drops to fall into each of the two bowls she had ready. A
little water was poured in with the liquid. “Just this much for
now. The water will make it easier to drink down.”
Hestia and Athena
exchanged suspicious looks.
Down it went, both
draining their bowls. Astyoche made a face. “It tastes like swamp
water.”
“Umm, yesss—”
Glaucus’s chin fell on his chest and loud snores began. A moment
later, his wife slumped over on the grass.
“I take it that
was not nektar,” said Athena.
“Water of the
River Lethe. I always keep a little on hand and always eventually
find it useful.” She looked on the two slumbering mortals. “I’ll
call Melissa to carry them home. I daresay all of this will seem like
a dream when they awaken.”
“If they remember
it at all. Or anything! A little too much Lethe water can do that,”
said Hestia.
“I think I got the
amount right. But the ambrosia they consumed will still have its
effect on them. They won’t be the same people they were before.”
“That’s for
sure,” agreed Athena. “It might be fun to keep an eye on them.”
*
Astyoche opened her
eyes. Whatever had happened to the door? It was hanging entirely off
its hinges! She shook her husband. “Wake up, Glaucus!”
My, she didn’t
remember him ever looking so handsome. And vital. And interested!
She felt pretty
interested herself. The two vigorously explored their interests for
the next hour and some. When they rested, Glaucus said, “I had the
oddest of dreams last night.”
“Why, so did I,
husband,” answered Astyoche. “I do wish I could better remember
them.”
“Dreams are fine
but I want to be awake right now. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so
awake and so alive. So ready to do something!”
“Me too. I think
the future will be good. I know it will be.” The two went to
the off-plumb doorway and gazed out into the night.
Far above them, a
little dog of stars ran across the sky.
appeared in Lands
Far Away 2021
