The Grave of Hestia

By Patrice Martinez

During the 1513th olympiad, the monarch Acrisios, king of New Argos, reigned over the Hellenic coalition with an iron fist ... But the python of Delphi prophesied his death by the hands of his grandson. Then Acrisios took the lead and locked Danae, his daughter, into a penitentiary fortress, placed in a geostationary orbit, above the powerful Argos ... Danae and her son Perseus seemed lost forever, but Zeus Olumpios - the master of the Olympus - decided to put an end to the throne of the potentate...

Free adaptation of the myth of Perseus, "The grave of Hestia" reflects the family condition of the dynasty of Atrides, tossed by couloir intrigues, feelings of hatred towards his relatives, where the game of power exposes the home to all deleterious temptations led by the autocracy...

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jun 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781547531431

Book preview

Patrice Martinez

Translated by Edib Beširević 

The grave of Hestia

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Written By Patrice Martinez

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Copyright © 2018 Patrice Martinez

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All rights reserved

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Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

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www.babelcube.com

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Translated by Edib Beširević

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Cover Design © 2018 Frederic-Edwin Church : temple - Arnold Böcklin : medusa

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Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

Patrice Martinez

Chronicles of Demeter

2

The Grave of Hestia

Phanès-editions

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ISBN: 979-10-91877-61-9

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Cover illustration: Frédéric-Edwin Church – the Parthenon -

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Intellectual property © 2017 de Phanès-editions

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Martinez Patrice

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01, allée des Monts d'Olmes 31770 Colomiers (France)

The grave of Hestia

Deus ex machina *

The time is wise, it reveals everything.       Thales of Millet

The stomach is the greatest of all the gods   

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Euripides

* In the theatre, a mechanism that brings a divine representation to the stage

PROLOGUE

Planet Earth was no more than a dead star, disembowelled, stripped of its energy resources and destroyed by the recurring conflicts between the Hellenic coalition and the Medo-Persian tribes. Billions of stadiums away, the Hellenic Empire crisscrossed to a new world, the Lethe* - the galaxy where Demeter* and his sun Phebus, dwelt - and colonized viable solar systems, without souls or populated by natives. This place imposed itself to the permanence of Greek tribes. Each planetary system was provided with cities, endowed with a republic or aristocracy with oligarchic dominance.

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During the 1513th olympiad*, the monarch Acrisios, king of Argos, reigned over the Hellenic coalition with an iron fist ... but Zeus Olumpios - the master of Olympus - had decided to put an end to his throne. .

The enemy always comes from within

Within the galaxy of Lethe, the celestial drape of the nymphs Ouranies* unfolded its starry adornment. Suddenly a Persian attack ship penetrated the Hellenes' space domain ... The combat fighter exploded in a shining sheaf and disintegrated, leaving behind its brief existence only a heap of debris wandering in the interstellar void - the shock wave spread over a few stadiums*, before decaying by the grace of the immaterial protective field.

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The monarch Acrisios turned to his cousin, the magistrate Cinesias, he had a radiant smile across his face:

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- In war, the opportunity does not wait! Aphorism of Thucydides the Athenian, enunciated the king of New Argos and Sparta. Then the highest strategist puffed his chest; a simple way to comfort himself after this large-scale martial demonstration.

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– Your shield has worked well, Lord Acrisios?

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– Did you doubt it? The Pelte* shield is more than just a force field. It took a whole squad of talented researchers, physicists and technicians to carry out this great space adventure. The Pelte shield is not only a shield against the Persian force, but also as a protection against the risk of collisions with meteorites wandering along the Hellespont corridor. From now on, the house of Atreus* is safe...

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The Senator Cinesias caressed uniquely, with the thumb on which he wore a ring the engraving on the pommel, than he grabbed it firmly in his hand. The politician's pale complexion contrasted with the crimson red of his toga. On the rare gem pommel they had begun carving an Olympian effigy, portrait of Zeus Patrôos, which had scratches of the thyrsus*, located on the third eye - place on the forehead over and between the real, physical eyes. The cabochon contained in its heart a special treasure: opiate capsules were cloistered there, an analgesic relief for the owner of the shaft holder. The pangs of pain could come at any time, and even the mighty Medical Society Asclepius* was giving up on this illness. The pancreatic tumor progressed slowly and gradually weakened its vital functions, but that did not prevent the senator from attending this major event: setting in motion the Pelte!  

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The king of Argos and Sparta sent for Captain Menon, commander of the flagship Antipatros:

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–  We are going home, Captain!

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The immense war ship turned herself around, and then while it was directing her prow towards the bluish globe of the planet Demeter, flooded the bay window of the Hellenic ship with its spheroidal mass. Atomic propulsion nozzles spewed fire and consumed the nuclear material residing in the port of the flagship. For the moment, the Helios space station was just a bluish spot of light, sketched on the vast stellar field of the Lethe galaxy. On the edges, the immaterial barrier of the Pelte protection field returned to stand-by state, waiting for a collision to come ... The Medo-Persian coalition could arise, the planet of the Hellenes would have good protection behind its anti-aircraft armour!

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Chronicles of Demeter:

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Contemplate this planetoid! Isn’t it on highest degree of perfection? The air currents model this world without the slightest turbulence, and the atmospheric pressures in no way oppress its beauty ether. The ludions, which you see parading all around us, illustrate this state of equilibrium between the high and the low, the cold and the hot, the dense and the ethereal ... Our Dionysus would be proud participating the future birth and expansion of a perfect world! But there is still so much to do, and the political noise of Demeter and the sister planets can only slow down our grandiose project. The religious caste will be our own adversary ... Because in residency of peace, man only looks how to liquidate it!

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Speech of the Lord Antigone of Boeotia, naturalist and geologist of the College of Sciences, during a scientific symposium on the planet Tau-Thetis, the fourth of the second decade of the month of Boedromion, during the second year of the 1619th olympiad.

Translator’s explications of less known ancient Greek words and of Greek originating names (in order of appearance) in Prologue:

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Lethe - one of the five rivers of the underworld of Hades.

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Olympiad - (Greek: Ὀλυμπιάς, Olympiás) is a period of four years. During the Hellenistic period it was used as a calendar epoch.

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3) Nymphs Ouranies - In Greek mythology, Urania was the Muse who presided over astronomy and astrology and she is assisted by ouranies, the celestial nymphs.

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4)  Stadium - In the ancient Greek world, the word stadium referred to a measurement of distance - a stadium could vary in different locations from 177 m in length at Delphi to 192 m at Olympia.

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5) Pelte – from ancient Greek péltê or πέλτη – the light shield.

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6) Thyrsus - in ancient Greece and Rome spear tipped with an ornament like a pine cone, carried by Dionysus and his followers.

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7) Atreus - Atreus was a king of Mycenae in the Peloponnese, the son of Pelops and Hippodamia, and the father of Agamemnon and Menelaus. Collectively, his descendants are known as Atreidai or Atreidae.

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8) Asclepius - was a hero and god of medicine in ancient Greek religion and mythology.

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Bad omens

A few olympiads later, in Delphi:

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The two guards of the king of Agema were stationed in front of the crypt. The servants of the temple, like the master coquus1, were set aside from the sacred enclosure; only the sibyl*, and an illustrious person of the Hellenes: King Acrisios remained within!

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The virgin, seated on her tripod of gold and silver, moved limply. She was rocking, like a frail boat stormed by the waves of Thalassa*. Pythia* did not suffer of the Ocean-god fury but of the narcotics she has taken daily in the sacred arena. In a Corinthian style, the alabaster columns framed the young, frightened pythoness, subject of forced captivity. Like the hair of the hypnotizing Medusa, her hair-strands floated on the flow of the air currents, which was winding between the columns of the colonnade.

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The monarch of the city of Argos and Sparta turned to the priest, whose interpretations of the pythia could vary according to his appetites on the stock market or the physical attraction concerning the individual installed before him.

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Then! Exclaimed Acrisios, hardly controlling himself with exasperation.

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Sire! The answer is so difficult to interpret, there is so much inter ...

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I have other things to whip than waste my time with this mad virgin, he snapped dryly.

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The pythoness uttered a loud cry, breaking the two men's conversation.

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- Why is she excited? thundered the monarch.

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- She just had a vision.

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The young Pythia continued her hermetic groans, throwing a lament from time to time, of which she alone-or the priest-intercessor-could understand the auspices. The official was also shaking, and seemed concerned about the affair that was springing up there:

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- I'm afraid for you, Sire!

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- That is to say...? We are no longer children, tell me something or I let enter my bodyguards and I order them to whip you on the field!

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– The pythia augurs a great drama ... I distinguish ... uh! ... The priestess recognizes a spider’s web weaving slowly around your illustrious person ... A child, a baby comes out of limbo and will be a source of misfortune to your throne......

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The monarch placed his imposing right hand on his face, and kneaded his darkened face; a simple reflex to appease his terrible rage. He spoke in a low voice: 

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Danae... My daughter... Pregnant? It can only be her future offspring who will be the agent of this terrible fatality.

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The king of Argos turned and left the tholos*, a temple of perfect roundness, without a word. The tyrant plunged his massive body into the darkness of the night, a night of Hecate*, leaving the temple's residents to the care of the bodyguards, because ... no! never there should be no traces left behind. Simple security automatism of the highest military authority of the Hellenes, that went by itself!

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The hydraulic bars of the dungeon plunged into their common dwelling, obscuring all attempts at escape. At the back of the cell there was a shadow curled up on itself, a soul lonely and tortured by an implacable fate: Danae remained prostrate in a cold corner of the penitentiary fortress. The gaol remained as gloomy as the steppes of Tartarus lying in the depths of Hades, and the blue of the metal reinforced this austere penitentiary residence placed in low orbit around the planet Demeter. An arsenal of satellite microphones orbited all around its imposing tubular mass, protecting its dark carcass from forced intrusion. Anyone who strives to bypass the recommendations of the protective field would be in an awkward position; no compromise whatsoever would prevail in such a case. 

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The magistrate Posidonios approached the metal cross-pieces, whose diameter was equal to the imposing arms of the brave Scythian guards. He looked at the new prison boarder. In the mind of the official, sad thoughts were moving around: the conditions of the prisoner did not please him. The anthracite grey tails of the official's toga floated loosely around his person, offering at Dana's sight the fugitive image of a terrifying weapon: the lightning was connected to the pelvis by a leather strap, and its corpulent bearer could at any time prove the extent of its field of action.

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Posidonios pressed a key, nestled in a section of the wall, then removed the fibula from the leather jacket and slipped it into the centre of the cross bar, allowing the bars to slide in the frame. Sliding, the bars hissed like wandering souls floating on the banks of Cocyte, a river of the underworld. The official gave a half-smile and entered the threshold of the cell...

- Your father has summoned me to take care of your person, Princess Danae, in order to avoid all the inconveniences of the other residents of the prison. You've been pampered and given the best prison dungeon, he continued in casual ton.

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The young woman straightened her head, offering her livid face to the greatest of the villains that belonged to the suzerain authority.

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– If he really wants what's best for his daughter, then he'll get me out of this Tartar!

– Be indulgent to our Lord, mistress, he works for the good and the safety of the Empire. I understand your distress, princess, and as the most illustrious representative of our Lord Zeus Pater, your father must govern by wisdom and prudence, despite what his heart dictates...

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– Ah! Ah! Ah!!! his heart? She snapped, does my father have a heart? Let me doubt it. Tell him that his daughter will forgive him this crazy order if he comes to his senses. But I doubt he hears my supplications, he has too much to do and to undo in his world, oh how corrupted it is, to listen to them with attention! The princess tilted her head back, her hair touching the wall.

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The magistrate was speechless, watching the offspring of the greatest despot of Argolis* crying in his cell.

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– Lady Epictetus should not be late now. She will entrust to you all that our good Lord of Argos expects from you, and be agreeable to your guardian, for she is far from being as indulgent as me.

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After this statement, the magistrate drew back and resumed sliding the bars. The bars emitted their dismay roaring, for being too long partitioned off the forged metal frame. Danae got up hurriedly and ran to the bars. She grabbed the cross bar positioned at her height:

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– Where are my rights? Why this imprisonment? Where is the herald having read the sentence against me? Answer me! I am your princess, you must answer me ... Do you hear? I am innocent! You do not have the right to let me languish here! She screamed.

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With a gloomy look, she cursed the man fleeing like a shadow of Hades before the punishment issued by the three judges of the Underworld. Epictetus slumped on the cold, dismal floor of the prison. Her hair, the colour of black jet, flooded her milky body that was affected by seclusion far more mental than physical. A sound of foot broke the deep lethargy: a woman emerged from the corridor, a vial in her hands. The leather tunic fell to the ankles, and her boots polished to shine every day showed their folds of wearing.

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– Straighten up, my daughter! It is particularly indecent for a lady of Argos to crawl in the lowest torments of human emotionality.