Heroes, Mortals and Destroyers: The Chronicles of Greek Mythology, #3

By Michele Amitrani

Tales of the ancient Greek world—populated by monsters, gods and mortals—have been with us for millennia.

 

In this collection you will find the familiar woven into the unexpected as the myths of Galatea, the Prophetess of Apollo, and the foundation of Athens are retold in fresh, bold ways.

 

This collection captures the soul of these famous stories, while its darkly complex mashup of myth and reality leaves us reflecting on what it really means to be human.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michele Amitrani
• Release date: Apr 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781998436019

Book preview

PROLOGUE

My dear friend Cranaus. When this letter reaches you, I will be long dead.

You are king now of the most prosperous city in Greece; a bastion of progress, welfare, and freedom unrivaled in the entire world.

Believe me, it cost dearly to keep it this way.

The crown carries the burden of knowledge, and this knowledge must be wielded like a sword to protect the safety of our citizens.

I am writing this letter to give you some of that knowledge.

The story you are about to read is not reported in the old archives. You will not find it in the royal library, nor in the Treasury of Wisdom in Delphi. The gods themselves do not know the full extent.

Only one of them knows.

This is the story of how the city of Athens avoided destruction.

Now, it is upon you to keep it safe from doom.

1

TO BE A KING

It is important, when deceiving a god, to have no fear of the consequences.

I have never thought of myself as a brave king. Surely, I am not the smartest or the wisest. I am not a warrior, nor a philosopher, nor a hero. I am a simple man who has been entrusted by necessity with the safety of his fellow countrymen, and who fits the role as best he can.

People call me king because of the gold diadem that sits on my head. They bow before me out of respect for my station, for fear of what I might do to them if they displease me. The truth is, my friend, I am just a naked man in the eyes of destiny.

Formalities, ceremonials, and birthrights do not help rule a nation with justice. Only foresight and self-sacrifice can.

Let me ask you this question: What does it mean to be a king? What are the qualities he inspires in those who he rules? These are questions every sovereign must ask himself before rising in the morning and after the grave silence of the night falls—when the world is still and everyone surrenders to the embrace of Morpheus.

This is what I know: A king is a servant. He does not rule by command, he rules by example. He does not ask his citizens for things he would not do himself. He looks his people in the eyes and asks, How can I be of service today?

I never had parents. Not because they abandoned me, not because they died before I was old enough to hold their memories. They simply never existed. I did not have the luxury of being raised by a mother and a father.

I was born from the earth, brought forth by powers more ancient than the Olympians themselves. Many have called me the plant king or the spit of the Earth. I don’t blame them for these names. People fear what they don’t understand, and my coming to the world is as inexplicable as the movement of the stars.

You know well, Cranaus, that the prodigy of my birth is called autochthoneada, born from the earth. Autochthonous beings are mortals who sprang from the soil, trees, and rocks. They eternally belong to the land that gave birth to them. A bond as ancient as the foundation of the world links the being of earth to the land that made him.

Therefore, the closest I ever had to a father and a mother was the country that birthed me. To me, this land we now call Athens, and the people living in it, are the closest thing to a family I will ever have.

This sets me apart from most of the kings who have been and who ever will be. I would do anything to protect the safety of my country and citizens because they are, in the deepest meaning of the words, my brother and sister, son and daughter, father and mother.

A king must serve the good of his citizens and his country before his own needs. I held this conviction always, in the fifty years of my ruling. I let it guide my every action.

Never forget this as you continue reading.

2

TALES FROM AFAR

The city you now know as Athens was called Actica before I became its king. Actica was little more than a few hundred makeshift buildings on a rocky hill. When I say buildings, I mean houses made of dried mud and rotten wood barely able to withstand heavy rain. Most of the people strolled around half-naked alongside pigs and chickens and goats, trading animal skins for cracked pottery, drinking sour wine and eating scraps of food picked from the dusty street or stolen in the market—whatever they could find daily. I say this with no ill intent, but the truth is that before my time, Actica was a small kingdom roamed by sheep, thugs, and whores.

The ruler who preceded me, King Actaeus, was a good man but a poor leader. He did not know how to care for his citizens. He never learned the art of assembling, marshaling, and driving the community he led toward the common goal of prosperity. He gave himself to games of dice and betting, and liked to display his skill as a gambler.

It wasn’t malice, I am sure. It was merely ignorance at its truest core, which spiraled into negligence.

If you forget the best iron sword outside and let the elements work on it for a while, it will rust. This happened to Actica. It became rusty, and King Actaeus knew it.

I will always remember the words he uttered with his final, dying breath. The earth has delivered you to Actica to cleanse my mistakes, Cecrops, he said with shame in his voice. Do not repeat them.

I vowed I would not. On that day, I swore I would do anything to best serve my country and my citizens. My first official act was to rename the city Cecropia to mark a new beginning.

In the next years, I began the long, hard process of writing a new chapter in the history of our city. I enacted several reforms designed to strengthen our society and foster the economy.

I introduced marriage among the promiscuous population, which was prone to lie with anyone, disrespectful of the gods and the teachings of our ancestors. I divided the region into twelve communities to organize labor and to simplify bureaucracy; I ordered the people to build altars and statues to protect us from the wrath of the gods, and I hired skilled sea masters from Rhodes and Heraklion, using their knowledge to build a new port and to teach our subjects the art of navigation and the trade of commerce. I also founded the Areopagus, giving the citizens of Cecropia a governing council to judge and to be judged in fairness among our peers.

Reading and writing were also unknown, esoteric arts for most of the people living in our land. I hired teachers and scholars from across the region to correct this deficiency. A person who cannot read and write is not a person, but a shell of meat propelled by animal needs. Culture is built upon words. Prosperity is the offspring of knowledge.

I will not lie to you, my friend. It wasn’t easy to turn Cecropia into the cohesive community driven by ingenuity you see now. I have neglected my wife Aglaurus and my three daughters to put front and center the needs of the many; I worked long hours into the night with nothing but an idea and the will to pursue it. But in the end, after years of struggles and setbacks, the quality of life of the citizens improved, the economy bloomed, and I witnessed the rise of a new generation of people proud to be sons and daughters of Cecropia.

Our city became a prosperous trading hub in the region of Actica, matching the polis of Akaion and Birinatia for size of fleet and volume of commerce. From the busy port of Halipedon, merchandise from all over the civilized world was shipped to the markets of the inner mainland and sold throughout Hellas. Gold and silver from Crete, grain and wine from Egypt, pottery and gemstones from Rhodes; all these goods passed into our city and then flooded into Euboea, Boeotia, Akarnania, and the rest of the Greek mainland. Our welfare made other poleis rich and better off than they had ever been. Commerce, culture, and transportation grew as a result, and the population increased dramatically in a generation.

It was a good time to be alive. Old people looked back to their prime years with satisfaction for the things they had accomplished, and young people looked to the future with hope, discovery, and endeavor, striving to do better than their fathers had, to go further, to make the next generation richer and better than the previous one.

The Titan Prometheus, maker of humankind and giver of knowledge, would have been proud of this corner of the Greek world, where his teachings of progress and enterprise were put to good use.

More years passed. Cecropia grew in wealth and Greece with it. We had setbacks and challenges, but we faced them as a cohesive unit, driven by one shared purpose: to be better than we were before.

One day I was walking alongside Halipedon’s eastward docking wing, surveying the unloading of ships delivering goods from Egypt and Anatolia. Toward the end of the promenade I spotted a familiar seaman, a merchant friend of mine. His name was Skiros, a dealer of silk and amber who went back and forth from Actica to Lydia for most of the summer season.

How’s the back treating you, sir? I inquired while passing by the docking area that had been assigned to his ship.

The merchant, a willow of a man with a shaved head and a missing eye, lifted his beardless chin and smiled at me a toothy smile. Tis old bones o’mine are rotting in the sea, Your Majesty, he said with a thick Karian accent that made the most jovial statement sound like a threat. Nothing but salt and sun o’ my bare back, you see? Poseidon’s vastness is chewing me alive. He gestured vaguely toward the Aegean Sea.

You love every minute of it, Skiros, I said, laughing. Don’t try to fool me into believing otherwise.

Aye. The sailor grinned. Every god-forbidden second of it, My Lord. He patted the side of his ship. She’s a blessing from the gods, she is. Makes my travels worthy of a song.

How’s business?

Skiros shrugged. Price of grain’s falling. He glared toward the south, and for a moment it looked like he was about to spit on the dock. Instead, he glanced at me and cleared his throat. Egyptians are selling it for less than water, he explained. You ask me, Sire, Macedonian iron’s where the money is nowadays. Wish I had enough men for the journey north, and a decade less in m’bones to make the trip at land. He straightened up a little; his back cracked loudly. Maybe in the next life.

Maybe so, I said. By the way, I must thank you for your gift.

Gift, Your Majesty?

The wine from Sardis, I reminded him. You gave it to me the last time you docked. It was the finest I ever tasted.

Ah! Skiros barked a laugh. That’s donkey piss compared with this vintage from Byblos, Your Grace. Where did I put it? He bent forward and opened a huge, wooden box. Them Phoenicians don’t know how to bathe, but they know how to make good wine. The seaman handed me a small wine jar, dark brown rimmed with gold motifs.

I opened my satchel. How much, my friend?

Same as you paid me last time, Your Highness.

Skiros. I shook my head, displaying what I hoped came across as polite puzzlement. You can’t keep giving me things for free. You have a reputation to maintain.

Aye. The sailor cracked a smile. That I do. This will be a secret we’ll both bring to our graves, yes?

I pursed my lips, then nodded. "Well then, I thank you. Again."

I opened the jar, and we shared a cup of wine.

Truly a treat, I said, evaluating the thick, honeyed wine.

So, Skiros said, looking at the bustling of people and merchandise moving around the docks. Port’s busier than the last season, I reckon. I see His Majesty added an entire new wing.

That I did, my friend.

I spoke about the improvements my city made at the port and at the Acropolis in the past year, then I asked him if he had news from the East.

There’s wind of wars. The sailor scratched his chin; his eye narrowed. King Mursili is going after more blood. He led a raid down the Euphrates River, sacking Mari and Babylon as he went. The Hittites are butchers. They won’t stop there. The Hurrians are moving to seize Aleppo and the surrounding areas for themselves, as well as the coastal region of Adaniya. It’ll get worse before it gets better.

You think the war will move west?

Doubt it. Skiros took another sip from his cup, swallowed. The Hittites are stretched thin in men and supplies. I’m no military expert, Your Majesty, but I bet my ship they won’t get one hundred miles near the coast. They won’t disturb commerce in the Aegean, and if they do, the Egyptians might show them the sharp side of their swords. War is bad for business, and the last thing the Egyptians need is more turmoil in the region under their spell. They already have problems getting rid of the surplus of grain they can no longer sell to the East. They won’t endure more. King Mursili knows it. He’ll stay out of their way.

I took a second to digest the news. Things were worse than I thought in Anatolia, but there was a small chance that the war would affect Cecropia or the Greek mainland. The falling price of grain was bad news for the Egyptians, but a windfall for us. I made a mental note to order more grain for the city’s reserves.

What else? I asked.

Let’s see. Skiros barked an order to one of his crew members, who answered with a grunt and started moving faster, then looked back at me. The Phoenicians have laid claims on a city in Arzawa. Them warrior-merchants are like cockroaches, Sire. Once you see one, you can’t throw a rock without hitting a bunch. Well, at least in a season or two we’ll have more silk from the port they are building. What else? Oh, yes! The mess in Kaliandros. Heard of that, Your Grace?

Kaliandros, I said, frowning. The small city-state in the southwest of Anatolia? What of it?

Skiros drained his cup and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Well, he said, it doesn’t exist anymore.

I blinked. What do you mean?

The sailor shrugged. One day it was there, people and all, and the next day the sea flooded it. A real mess, it was. We passed by Kaliandros a couple days after the event. A painful scenery to watch, Your Grace. Hundreds of people dead or missing, thousands trying to dig out what was left of their city. Most fled to inner Anatolia and Egypt. He gave a quick look around. You might have a fair share of ‘em in the next few days. Wouldn’t surprise me.

What happened?

Skiros took a bag from one of his crewmates and dropped it on the cobblestone path alongside the docking area. "Word is the god Poseidon was wronged by the citizens of Kaliandros. Your guess is as good as mine as to what, exactly, was wronged, and how. No one seems to know. Skiros shouted an order in Phoenician, then turned toward me with an apologetic smile. M’boys are packing for the night and doing a poor job at that. They need my eye to keep them focused, Your Majesty. I better make sure they don’t choke on their own spit. Have a good day."

You too, my friend. I pulled him closer and embraced him.

Well… The seaman cleared his throat. Your Majesty, he said, giving me an awkward nod. Thank…thank you very much.

You are very welcome, good friend. Have safe travel.

I bid him farewell and resumed walking.

I waited for his ship to be far enough from view, then I slid my purse back on my leather belt. Skiros would take time to realize I put three golden Drakis inside his pouch—if ever—a trick of hands I’d been taught by King Actaeus himself. It was a teaching that served me well in many occasions. The old king might not have been a good ruler, but he’d been a master when it came to sleight of hand.

I thought little of Skiros’ tale at that time. The merchant was prone to exaggeration, and he loved his adventures spicy and wild.

What a fool I was. I should have heeded his account. If I’d listened, it might have changed the outcome.

3

THE PATRONAGE OF THE GODS

Skiros’ prediction came to pass.

The next week, a sizeable number of refugees from Kaliandros came to Cecropia via the Aegean Sea. They confirmed the merchant’s story. A mountain of water had wiped out their city.

I questioned a few of the survivors, but they were too troubled to offer anything more than a painful account of all that they had lost. They were still shocked, understandably so.

I helped them as I could, providing temporary shelter outside of Cecropia’s walls and giving them food and clothes. Some of them remained in our city, resuming their trade and becoming part of our community, but the majority moved inland in search of a new beginning.

As the days passed, other tales reached my ears. Disturbing tales.

Many cities across Greece were facing insurmountable odds. It was not the usual stream of news coming from neighboring polis via merchants, ambassadors, and traders. It was an unheard-of collection of calamities seemingly happening all at once throughout the Greek world.

It seemed a strange coincidence. I don’t believe in coincidence. I pressed the foreigners for more intelligence.

What I learned left me deeply troubled.

The city of Oassaria, in Thessaly, was suffering from a pestilence the likes of which its inhabitants had never seen before. In Lydia, the garden city of Arkanias was dealing with an invasion of locusts that had decimated their crops and starved hundreds of families. In Sikelia, a covenant of sea pirates looted and then burned the port of the rich polis of Pontus, bringing the city’s economy to its knees.

This was just the beginning, the tip of a mountain whose real proportions I had no understanding of yet. In the months to come, a dozen more cities reported nefarious occurrences similar in scale to the three poleis I mentioned earlier.

The city of Kaliandros had not been an isolated accident. Whatever curse had happened in Anatolia was spreading to Crete, Thessaly, Beotia, and even Italia. It was becoming a distressing recurrence in every part of the Greek dominion.

This inexplicable quantity of catastrophes did not sit well with me. That no one seemed to be paying attention made me even more worried.

I meant to find out what was happening.

I always endeavored to ready myself for adversity. The best way to do this is gathering intelligence.

One thing I gave to Cecropia, aside from the notion of marriage, administration, and scholarship, is a secret group of knights I called Gatherers, whose primary occupation was to gather information throughout Hellas. They have contributed many times throughout my reign to safeguarding Cecropia from a number of threats.

This special unit of twelve riders skilled in diplomacy, cartography, and sea travel helped me avoid three wars, provided grounds to start economic relations with half a dozen hostile cities, and smoothed out what might have become unpleasant situations with foreign powers.

Investigate, I instructed them. Ask questions. Don’t settle for anything but the truth. Find out what’s happening and why.

I gave them my fastest horses and sent them to each of the poleis that had experienced a calamity.

A fortnight later, the Gatherers came back with answers.

It’s a contest among gods, Sire, Bruxeos, the leader of the party, said once the doors of my royal chamber were secured. Guards stood outside, protecting our privacy.

A contest? I said, leaning forward.

Yes, Bruxeos explained. Gods from every birth and station resolved to take possession of cities in which each of them receives their own peculiar worship.

To take possession? I echoed him. How do you mean?

They started a contest among themselves to see which one will name a city.

I settled back on my throne and stared at him. You mean to say all of this is happening over the patronage of cities?

Yes, Your Majesty. This is what we gathered from the investigation.

The hair on the back of my neck