Ambrosia

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