Thetis, Peleus, and Achilles

By gary weiand

The goddess Thetis considers all mortals beneath her. The greatest gods have offered to make her queens of the sea, or even the heavens. But, since the Fates have decreed that her child must be greater than his father, she is forced to marry Peleus, a human hero.

Their child must be mortal. Their first meeting is little better than rape. Still, Thetis decides to make the most of things.
But at her wedding three great goddesses, Aphrodite, Hera, and Athena, dispute a golden apple. They choose as judge Paris, a lecherous Trojan. Aphrodite bribes him by promising that the world's sexiest woman, Helen, will be his wife. The other two vow vengeance.

Meanwhile Thetis wonders if her son must be subject to death. She tries to burn away Achilles' mortality, but Peleus misunderstands and ruins her spell. She leaves, vowing furiously to have nothing more with humans.

But maternal tenderness overcomes anger. She visits constantly, invisible to all but her offspring. Peleus adopts Patroclus, expecting him to serve as a restraining elder brother, But Achilles grows at a preternatural rate, and at four takes leadership and kills a cyclops. Peleus gets Thetis' reluctant assent to have Achilles trained by Chiron the Centaur, though he will surely be trained in fighting techniques. Achilles flourishes, performing great feats before his teens.

Elsewhere, Paris abducts Helen wife of Menelaus of Sparta. He and his ruthless brother Agamemnon vow to gather all Greek warriors for an expedition against Troy. They send out shrewd Odysseus to recruit Achilles.

Thetis hides her son as a girl, but Odysseus exposes the disguise by tempting the supposed girl with weapons. After a practice duel that leaves hinm in awe of the youngster, he persuades the eager boy to join the army.

Contrary winds delay the Greeks until a mad prophet persuades Agamemnon to sacrifice his own daughter for favorable winds. Agamemnon uses the inwardly childlike Achilles as bait, promising him as a marriage partner to lure his daughter. Then he sacrifices her. Confused and humiliated, Achilles becomes indifferent to death.

Thetis draws ever closer to Peleus, begins to understand humanity, and realizes the impossibility of saving Achilles.

Achilles dies, throwing Peleus into despair. But Thetis, now preferring a mortal, grants him eternal youth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: gary weiand
• Release date: Aug 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301854158

gary weiand

Gary Weiand attended Kent State University during the shootings in 1970, recieved an MA in History, and taught for many years at Cuyahoga Community College before working as Historian at St. Mary's Basilica in Phoenix. He's been interested in the Homeric characters since childhood, and has freelanced over a hundred articles in newspapers such as the "Arizona Republic" and "Plain Dealer," and magazines. His book on John L. Sullivan is available through Xlibris.

Book preview

Chapter I

Thetis called Silverfoot placed both white hands on the stone wall that topped her husband’s palace and leaned forward to gaze over Phythia, the land that the child in her womb would someday inherit. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. The paths winding toward the palace were brown, composed only of dirt trampled temporarily into place between weedy grass and twisted olive trees. Dust blew up from them. Indignantly she wiped away the particles blown into her eyes. Another insult to her, a goddess. Fate might have made her queen here, but those crystalline skies seemed a boring blank, and the plain stretching under her seemed as never ending as a badly sung ballad. Sheer monotony. Her hands again cradled her thickening belly.

Oh my son, what an inheritance will be yours, she murmured. Gods grant that you be a traveling man. Then she bit her tongue, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Had she just echoed the very prophecy that she’d made up her mind to thwart? It was said that her son would someday lead great armies far away, in constant danger of death. She had grown too fond of the little being inside her to allow that prophecy to come true.

Still, to think of any man staying here his whole life was also repulsive. Ugh. The farms raised horses, hardy cattle and a few pigs, while the farmers tended olive and fruit trees. But high summer showed no lushness, no teeming life, only a suggestion of existence wrung with great difficulty from an indifferent land. It was a place of flies and stinking offal, totally unfit for a child of hers.

She sighed and looked to her left where a great wood stretched, a swath of green following the Eripeus river. Her eyes sought to rest on it as she brushed back her golden hair, but in a moment she could barely see the greenery through the glare. Anyway, those woods were anything but a soothing refuge for a sea-nymph; wild bore roved there wherever they would, and even the river teemed with snakes.

Even worse creatures haunted the forest’s depths and caves, making it a wild place unfit for any goddess to make a picnic except Artemis. That great huntress, armed with bow and quiver and followed by her retinue, actually liked the sweaty hunt and its bloody end, but what pleased her utterly repulsed Thetis.

But Phythia ended at last on the shores of the Aegean, her true home, foaming abode of her father and sisters. She closed her eyes, remembering how green, blue and yet comfortably dark it was. Diamonds danced on its surface, fish flashed in fecund billions below, and further down living coral glowed pink, purple, and red. Multi-colored octopi stretched translucent tentacles from shadowy hiding places on the bottom , while white crests broke on island shores above. Bays and inlets without number hid the grottos where gods played and goddesses sang all day long, the occupations she considered most suitable for immortals.

How much longer before she could rejoin them?

An eagle cried above her. Startled, she glanced up. It flew neither to her left nor right, but went straight overhead. She shaded her eyes and watched until it disappeared on the horizon. Eagles usually whirled in great circles and so eventually turned, but not this one. Was it Zeus’ work? Was he still watching her?

It’s hurrying somewhere, she told the child. But your mother is going nowhere. And only a year ago I could have been Queen of the Sea.

For a year ago this very day Poseidon, king of the waters and second greatest of the gods, had stood before her, strong and smelling of the great watery expanse that he ruled. He’d caught her alone, carefree and utterly naked, on one of the sand spits that she loved. The dolphin that she’d commanded so easily and ridden there had flashed away like a minnow when its greatest master had emerged dripping from the depths.

She’d felt at once his amorous interest in her full breasts freshly caressed by water and sun, the curves of her belly and thighs. Desire had burned in his green eyes as he’d stepped toward her, and once his waist cleared the surface even the most sheltered of virgins could have had no doubt. Poseidon wanted her, now. Oh holy lust, was he going to rape her? The greatest gods often did just that. They were not used to being delayed, much less denied. Hera had warned her. . . .

The Sea King had stepped out of the water. She’d shivered and would have run, but her legs hadn’t carried her. Blushing she’d crossed her arms across her body as though they could shield the view. Poseidon’s urgency had nearly convinced her that she ought to comply with him, since less might be a form of treason to the Sea Lord. For tense moments fear had mixed with fascination and then a dawning appreciation of her own power, even a latent exhibitionism.

She’d always enjoyed riding the waves with only the gauziest raiment trailing behind, but had never considered the full effect that such a practice might create.

But the true extent of her emotional empire showed only when Poseidon clapped his hands. Instantly a sleeved white robe folded around her, falling around her legs and leaving only her shoulders bare. She looked down astonished, then back at her potential ravisher. Now Poseidon wore a gold fillet on his brow, and stood clad in purple and gold. He wasn’t going to take advantage. He had discretely covered his own engorged tribute to her charms, and an ardent but honorable suitor stood before her.

Thetis, he began, then stopped, as though even he could be embarrassed. He hesitated long, making her wonder whether he was going to begin by apologizing for frightening her. That would have been foolish, for a naked erect man who approaches a nude woman not his wife has gone far beyond anything incidental. Either she’ll accept him, or he’ll be a rapist.

To her delight he was no fool. Though asking permission, Poseidon continued being bold.

Thetis, he started again, You are the loveliest of all sea nymphs. Of all women, mortal or divine, you are the finest. I’ve seen you often, both in the waves and onshore, though you did not know it. And I, sweet lady, have fallen in love with you.

She said nothing, but his words sang in her ears. He was handsome, tall, and broad with a tapered waist, and sported the thick black beard of vigorous youth.

Yes, my sweetest, this is love. I know you well, and there’s no other lady that I want for my Queen. You’ve been to my court a hundred times with your father, and you’re already leader of the Nereides. The gods are all in agreement about you. Queen Hera’s loved you from the cradle, Hephaestus adores you, and even Zeus remembers the day you saved him from the uprising. Have mercy on me, darling, and be my happiness.

I want to hold you. I want to kiss your sweet lips, caress that neck of the swan, explore those seashell ears. I want to run my fingers through your blonde hair, and to kiss your soft golden thighs. He looked eagerly for her response.

Thetis felt herself moved but looked down and would not answer.

He took her by the shoulders. I want to drive you wild with pleasure, he urged, thrusting toward her despite himself, and there will be pleasure, lady.

She felt her face coloring and reminded herself that the god was actually practicing self-restraint.

He drew her near, looked deep in her eyes, and declared that she would share his palace, his rule, his servants. That together they would triumph amidst the waves and the finny beasts of the sea. She felt some alarm when he squeezed her yielding white flesh till it reddened beneath his fingers, but then his hands moved away to the folds of his new robe.

Goddess, he said, and, producing a necklace of perfectly matched large round pearls, he cinched it around the soft column of flesh that was her slender lovely neck. So long, so made to be adored, he murmured. Stepping back a pace he looked, frowned, waved his hand, and the necklace, which had been a little loose, tightened almost imperceptibly into place.

Look at yourself, lady, he said, holding up a polished gold mirror to her. Peering into it she saw a shining silver tiara that set off her blue eyes, while the pearls exuded a supernatural luster that enhanced her natural rosiness. With a nod he covered her arms with bracelets of turquoise, silver, and finely worked gold. Then sparkling emeralds and smoldering rubies in gorgeous settings ringed themselves around her fingers.

Thetis had always loved finery. Beautiful things delighted her eye without compromising her attractiveness, so she always took such gifts with pleased gasps of innocent delight. But this was stunning, far surpassing anything that had gone before.

Poseidon kept pressing her to agree, but looking far off she stopped listening. He’d already said enough to make her picture herself reigning over those waters of which the mighty Aegean was but a part, and she approved the vision. It was close to reality, just a whispered yes away. Poseidon might want to consummate their union at once, but now she knew that she could control him.

But then everything changed so fast that her throaty voice couldn’t even begin to pledge her troth.

First a sizzle sounded through the air, then came a sharp crack and the smell that comes after a lightning bolt strikes. The air seemed to spin like a swirling cloud until Zeus himself stepped out of it.

Hail, King of the Sea, well met my brother, he said to Poseidon. He was about the same height as the sea-god but even broader through the chest, and his hair was blond while the others was black. He bore himself with a self-confidence that said he’d never kept company with an equal. Noting that Poseidon, in his godly wisdom, had decided that this could not be a chance encounter, Zeus decided to forego the small talk.

Barely nodding to Thetis, he informed his brother that he, Zeus, had watched her ever since she’d served him during the rebellion. He desired her, and would marry her since that’s what she undoubtedly wanted. Poseidon turned deep red and found a way to mention his trident, which set off massive earthquakes when he jammed it into the ground.

With this thing I can break the world into pieces, I can throw down mountains into the sea, he reminded his brother. I would do those things for the woman I love."

Would you fight for her, Earthshaker? Would you brave my thunder, and the lightning bolt?

Wait, she objected, flattered by the looming combat between two great gods, yet also confused and dismayed. You can’t marry me, mighty Zeus. Hera of the white arms is already your wife. Hera had virtually reared her.

Zeus favored her with a patronizing glance. Don’t worry, little one, he cooed. I’ll consult with my best advisers about how best to get a divorce. Just wait here a minute and I’ll come back. And you, Earthshaker, see to it that you’re back in the sea when I return. It won’t be long.

Maddening, peremptory man! King or not, Zeus hadn’t even asked if she’d have him. She’d liked the idea of living in the sea rather than craggy old Mount Olympus. But instead of courting her, he’d just left her with Poseidon, as if neither of their wishes meant anything. And he’d assumed that she would marry him? Even her father Nereus would not have engineered a match without talking to her first. And what about her loyalty to Hera?

Poseidon stayed, muttering of challenging his brother even if it meant overturning the whole world and spending the rest of eternity at war with heaven.

The waves crash high, he said darkly.

Time barely exists for great gods if they really, really don’t want it to, so Zeus returned within moments of his unceremonious leave taking. But some enormous change had taken place in him, because his cheeks were grimly pale, and his shoulders drooped. For a moment he seemed almost to totter.

You see I’m still here, Poseidon began, but the look of baffled anguish on his brother’s face stopped him.

And then Zeus had explained the awful truth, that Thetis was ─ not cursed exactly─ but bizarrely fated.

Thetis shuddered at the memory. She stood away from the wall, shutting her eyes and shaking her head from side to side her thoughts away. But when she returned to reality the only change was that the slave girl Lydia now stood anxiously by her side. Thetis could tell from her hesitating half-movements that this insignificant servant wanted to deliver a message at once, yet feared to intrude on her preoccupied mistress. She looked at the young woman. Yes? she questioned.

Your pardon, my lady. Lydia spoke almost breathlessly, her pretty young face flushed between the black tresses that framed it. The master, Peleus, is coming and would speak with you.

Thetis noticed that Lydia’s short white dress displayed most of her full thighs, her round arms were bare to the shoulder, and her neckline dipped very low. She snorted. Was Peleus sleeping with this wench while she herself was indisposed?

Not that she cared what her mortal partner was doing, though the thought of a straying husband was embarrassing. Granted, she had so arranged things that they might fall out this way. Goddesses can deliver three days after they conceive, or carry as long as they want. She’d elected to be pregnant for the normal human span in large part as an excuse to avoid the caresses of an inferior. Better to risk the subtle humiliation of temporary abandonment than to feign pleasure at the rites of a love that displeased her. But that didn’t give Peleus the right to display an unworthy mistress right under her nose.

Then came the despised one himself to interrupt her thoughts, decked out in his red cloak imprinted in the middle with a golden solar disk with six wavy rays. His simple crown sported a lion’s head mounted on a thin circle of gold. He was handsome, for a mortal, Thetis couldn’t deny him that. Dark hair fell in waves to his shoulders. His brooding brown eyes hardened and glowed when he was aroused, his beard was full and pointed with hints of red, and he was divinely male. Well, semi-divinely. His tall, slim, and powerful body seemed almost to be walking on springs, so strong were his calves. At thirty-four and in the flower of manhood, everything about him seemed to proclaim that he was born to command others.

But not gods. What would he look like in just ten years, let alone twenty? How soon would age start bowing his shoulders and ripping away clumps of hair, and when would those pearly teeth start rotting? Thetis, though born centuries before, still looked like a freshly flowered woman of twenty, and could remain that way indefinitely if she chose. All gods grew as they pleased and then stopped; if they decided to age again they did, a simple case of self-command. Divinities exercised will-power, and, since mortals did not, they were obviously childlike at best, contemptible at worst.

So let the Phythian populace stand in awe of Peleus, let them treat him like an earthly deity. Let them sing at the festivals that he was thrice, four times blessed, a man so beloved of the gods that they had allowed him to marry one of their own. She knew better. Doubtless the general population believed that it had been a love match, but in truth she never would have dishonored herself by going to his bed without the strongest compulsion. The thought that she must give birth to his mortal child made her almost retch with dread.

But she knew there must be a way out. She was Thetis the Nereid, and hadn’t given up on immortalizing an infant who was already more than half god. For to give him his due, Peleus claimed descent on his father’s side from Zeus, though she of course was all goddess.

Hail Thetis, Queen, said Peleus, raising an arm to her in something between a salute and a blessing.

Hail Peleus, King of Phythia, she responded. To what do I owe this gracious visit? For it’s been three days since I’ve seen you.

Would that it had been thirty, or that I’d never seen you at all, she thought. For a moment she feared a husbandly embrace, but he stopped an arm’s length away to explain that a state visit from Chiron, lord of the centaurs, had kept him occupied. Then he inquired how it went with her and the child.

State visit indeed! From his old friend and mentor Chiron? It was to laugh. He’d been three days without a word. Fine my lord, thank you, she answered graciously, but followed with a question of her own.

And how goes it with you and Lydia? Are your erections firm and hard? Can she make them keep coming all through the night? Have you gotten her with some bastard, do you think? A natural child who can serve the one that I’ll give you?

She was surprised that her speech, which had started in a melodious and low, if ironic, murmur, had ended in the piercing shriek of a mortally offended goddess. Peleus recoiled a step, as though she’d transformed herself into a great serpent with dripping fangs that wanted to cast glistening coils around him and press his breath away. A beautiful one that laughed as it squeezed.

The other gods told me that you were the most pious of mortals, just and chaste, Thetis continued in a more normal tone. Though this storm had long been building within her, she’d always expected to contain it. It seemed beneath her dignity to find it blowing abroad like a sudden raging sea squall. But goddesses need never apologize. If she was angry, then by definition she had good reason.

What a fool I was to believe them, she continued. Hah! You, chaste? What about all the women before me? What about Antigone of the long hair?"

Antigone was my wife, Peleus said, bewildered, back on his heels and spreading his arms, and I loved her.

Yes, you loved her so much that she hanged herself.

That wasn’t my doing. He was angry now, remembering what had happened. It was Queen Astydameia’s fault. She sent Antigone a letter saying that I planned to marry her daughter.

And Antigone believed it, didn’t she? Let these storm winds howl, she thought. Why would that be, unless she decided that it was completely in character for you and therefore most certainly true? And why did Astydameia send it if she didn’t have designs on you herself? And why would that be if you hadn’t encouraged her?

Peleus sputtered that Antigone had always been too naïve. But the implication about Astydameia cried out for immediate refutation. Thetis saw his confusion and smiled bitterly.

Astydameia, she began.

Was the world’s greatest slut, finished Peleus. She lied about me. First she wanted to seduce me when I was a guest in her husband’s palace, and when I turned her down out of respect for Acastus she made out that I’d tried to rape her. Then she sent that letter.

Of course, dear, you’re so irresistible that that is just what she must have done. Only it’s too bad she’s not around to deny it. You killed her, didn’t you, that time you captured the city of Iolcus? Cut her into pieces and marched your soldiers between the parts, or so I’ve been told.

The bitch deserved it. A hundred men died because of her.

Peleus couldn’t help snapping, but he was visibly trying to curtail further speech. The blood vessels at his temples were moving like a burrowing gopher’s trail. Thetis knew that he wanted to add more, to say that Astydameia had been too old for him, but she was ready for that ploy. Just let him mention age, it would open up breathtaking vistas for verbal exploration. He might want their conversation ended, but she had just begun.

What about Medea?

We were just shipmates. She had eyes only for Jason.

Oh yes, everyone says that she has remarkable dark eyes. So how did you know that she kept them on Jason, unless you tried to get her to fasten them on you and failed?

Silence.

This was easy.

There was Atalanta, she pressed.

It was a wrestling match.

Thetis felt her eyes widen. Then she stifled a laugh. This man was not ready to take on an angry mortal woman, let alone a goddess. She raised her eyebrows.

Peleus must have sensed that admitting to wrestling a girl was a virtual admission of guilt, for he offered a series of excuses.

She wanted it. I mean, she demanded that I wrestle her. I mean, she demanded that she be allowed to wrestle like everyone else. It was a funeral game, and she was all up about discrimination against women, there would have been big trouble if she hadn’t got her way because she had a following. So I wrestled her. I swear it wasn’t fun, he said desperately. I let her win.

Thetis felt herself smiling. She tried to make sure that it showed not amusement, but a sense of serene superiority mixed with contempt.

She’s nothing but a bull dyke, he finished. Not attractive at all. Don’t know why folks go on about her.

Remarkable isn’t it, how despite that she’s described as so graceful and fast that she could run over a field of grain without bending the stalks?

Peleus stayed quiet.

And then there was Polydora.

I never married her. I never even met her. She’s a complete myth for all of me.

Well, I’ve heard it said that she still pines in Thessaly somewhere. With a child no doubt. You’re good at getting women pregnant, she added meaningfully.

Peleus must have thought that he finally understood what this was all about, for the light of understanding brightened his eyes. Thetis saw this at once and interpreted it accurately. Just let him start placating her! She changed the subject. Or perhaps one should say she extended it, without, however, mentioning that as a goddess she felt disgraced at being married to a mortal. Surely that went without saying.

They told me you were just and pious as well as chaste, continued Thetis, hoping he wouldn’t notice her none too subtle segue. He didn’t. But his obvious desire not to be baited into further argument made her even more determined to push on.

What about your half-brother Phocis, your father’s favorite ─ he died, didn’t he? Conveniently struck in the head at a pentathlon that you invited him to. They tell me you threw the quoit. Of course it may have been an accident, but your father didn’t think so. He banished you from the kingdom, and all the world knows what a cool-headed man Aeacus was.

Peleus squirmed uncomfortably but would not speak. He looked like an impatient boy dying to leave a long-winded tutor.

When he died the gods made him one of the judges of the dead in the Underworld, so don’t try saying that he was just a foolish old man. He must have been one in a million.

Still Peleus said nothing, though mention of his father made his jaw set.

"Who purified you of the killing? Oh, I remember. It was Eurytion, king of Phythia, and for some reason he let you marry his daughter Antigone, and gave you a third of the kingdom. Poor Antigone. And poor Eurytion too. How odd that he should die in the Great Boar hunt, and that you should throw the javelin that hit him. Of course it was an accident, but still, that made you sole ruler after Antigone died. Funny how important people you know seem to die violently.

The gods never told me all this, she added bitterly, I had to find out for myself after we were married. And I thought you were supposed to be so upright and moral.

Peleus looked at her with the eyes of one who has been unfairly but unmistakably defeated. The stone castle they stood atop was his. The plains leading in all directions outside it were his. Legally, she was his, and the child inside her was his, and both of them knew it. Yet both also knew that she was a goddess, and that therefore he had no option but to withdraw until such time as she readmitted him to her presence.

So he bowed, turned without a word and walked away. At first Thetis rejoiced to see his back, but as her anger cooled she felt a little sorry for him. It hadn’t been exactly fair, overwhelming his otherwise seaworthy ship with a cyclone of questionable accusations.