Hades Speaks!, page 4
Those who killed their mothers or fathers get special treatment from the Erinyes (air-ee-nee-yez)—sometimes called the Furies—female monsters of revenge. Erinyes were often depicted as ugly, crazed women with wings, draped in black robes of mourning. They usually have hissing snakes wrapped all over them, too. These gals don’t just wait until their victims die to begin torturing them. In the upper world, the Erinyes used to screech and chase after their victims until they went insane.
A famous case was Orestes, who killed his mother, Clytemnestra, in a revenge murder. She had killed his father— her husband, Agamemnon—who had killed their daughter Iphigenia. Yeah, the family that killed together, stayed together—in Tartaros, anyway—forever.
But it’s not just murder that we gods despise. There are certain crimes that bring out the worst in us. Come find out what some of them are.
SISYPHUS: TORTURE BY ROCK
See that man over there pushing a giant rock up a hill? That’s Sisyphus. He’s got to push that boulder up that mountain using every ounce of his strength. When he finally gets it to the top, guess what happens—nothing! The boulder rolls all the way back down again and Sisyphus has to start all over. Every day. For eternity.
Yeah, remember that punishment when you think you have too much homework. It could always be worse, kid.
So what did Sisyphus do to earn such a miserable punishment? He messed with us gods, that’s what.
First, he was a tattletale. Sisyphus saw Zeus run away with a pretty river nymph. When the girl’s enraged river-god father demanded to know where they’d gone, Sisyphus had the nerve to bargain with the river-god: “I’ll only tell you,” he said, “if you give me a spring of fresh bubbly water in the middle of my city.”
“Fine,” the river-god said, and when he was done, Sisyphus told him where the couple had gone.
The nymph’s daddy chased Zeus down and my little brother got so scared that he turned himself into a rock and changed the nymph into an island. What a baby, am I right?
Anyway, soon after, Zeus sent me a message telling me to haul Sisyphus down here. First of all, what am I— his errand-boy? I sent Thanatos, the god of death, instead. Thanatos, not wanting to take any chances, brought chains for Sisyphus’s wrists.
Sisyphus pretended not to know how they worked, so he asked the god of death to demonstrate. Thanatos clasped them on his own wrists. Sisyphus promptly threw him in a closet and sauntered away.
Okay, I love my god of death, but really, Thanatos? Anybody could’ve seen that trick coming from a mile away. Except for Atlas—he might’ve fallen for it. (Look up the stories of Atlas the Titan and you’ll see what I mean, kid.) There’s another version of the story where I’m the one Sisyphus tricked. Um, no. It was Thanatos. I swear.
Anyway, with Thanatos chained up, there was no death. Warriors were getting chopped up on the battlefield, but they didn’t die. It wasn’t pretty. Also, it made me furious. Nobody escapes death and my underworld! Yet suddenly everyone was escaping it.
Ares, the god of war, was particularly incensed. How could there be a victor in warfare if nobody died? So Ares hunted down Sisyphus and made him release Thanatos. At that point, Sisyphus surrendered and Thanatos brought him to me.
But Sisyphus was determined to get out of my kingdom. So right before he died, he secretly instructed his wife to give him no burial rites. “Just throw my naked body into the city square,” he told her. She did.
Once down here, he snuck into our throne room and put on a big act about being dishonored. He begged to be allowed to return to the upper world to make sure his body got the proper rites. My soft-hearted wife, Persephone, fell for the story and let him go.
Once “upstairs,” he decreed that he was never going back to the underworld. After a while, I caught on (what can I say—it’s busy down here) and I demanded that he be brought back. Hermes dragged Sisyphus back down to be punished by having to push that boulder up a hill … forever.
Lesson: You can’t escape death. Also, don’t make us gods look bad.
TORTURING TANTALUS
The son of Zeus (yes, another one), King Tantalus of Sipylos, was one of his father’s favorites. Zeus often shared his secrets with the fool—I mean, the mortal— and even allowed him to drink nectar and eat ambrosia. But Tantalus did not honor these gifts; he spilled Zeus’s secrets and shared the god’s sacred food with other mortals.
Worse, he tried to trick the gods at our own table on Mount Olympus. Tantalus killed his son Pelops, chopped him up, and served him as stew to us. Why? Who knows? Probably just so he could say, Nah-nah-nah-boo-boo, you ate my son and didn’t even know it!
We all knew what he was up to, of course, so none of us touched the food. Except for my mother-in-law.
Demeter claimed to be so despondent over Persephone being with me that she absentmindedly ate a portion of Pelops’s shoulder. (Like a true drama queen, everything had to be about her. Also, shouldn’t the goddess of plants be a vegetarian? Just wonderin’.)
Zeus in particular was outraged by Tantalus and his attempted trick—probably because one of his sons proved himself a fool yet again. Anyway, he had one of the Moirae (Fates) collect the body parts and bring Pelops back to life. Hephaestus created a new shoulder bone made of ivory to make up for Demeter’s mistake.
As punishment, Tantalus was sent to Tartaros for a particularly clever and cruel punishment (if I do say so, myself). He stood in a lake of crystal-clear water, but whenever he grew thirsty and reached down for a sip, the water receded. Also, a luscious fruit tree hung over his head, but whenever he tried to eat, the fruit moved just out of reach. For all eternity, he would be inches from cool, clean water to slake his thirst and sweet, juicy fruit to sate his hunger. Tantalus’s eternal punishment is to be tempted but never satisfied—to be endlessly tantalized.
Lesson: Do not mess with us gods. Also, just to be clear, do not sacrifice humans and eat them.
PROUD PROMETHEUS
Prometheus was one of the good-guy Titans. He helped us Olympians fight against the bad-guy Titans, so he got to hang out in the upper world. One day, Prometheus was playing with some clay and decided to fashion humans out of it. He breathed into his creation, giving humans life.
Zeus didn’t much care, except Prometheus took it too far. The Titan had a soft spot for his creations and he saw that they were offering up the best portions of sacrificed bulls to the gods—even if they were starving.
“No, no, that won’t do,” he told the humans. “Here’s what you should do. Divide this bull into two portions. In one bag, place the bones and cover them up with the fat. In another, put everything else that you can eat or use, such as skin for leather.”
Prometheus then told Zeus to choose one of the bags. Even though Zeus says he knew what the Titan was doing, he chose the one with the bones and fat.
Personally, I think he wasn’t paying attention and just grabbed the one that looked the biggest, as my greedy little brother is wont to do. Anyway, Zeus had been tricked. Now humans got to keep the best parts of their sacrifices while giving the gods only the useless bones and fat.
Strike one for Prometheus.
Zeus never liked to be tricked. To punish the humans, he took away their fire. Humans could not live without fire, and they became like animals again. Prometheus felt sorry for them, so he stole some of Zeus’s fire and brought it down to mankind in a hollow plant.
Strike two.
As punishment, Zeus created a human woman named Pandora and gave her to Prometheus. (Presumably, there were no human women yet, which makes no sense. But just go with it, okay?) Not trusting Zeus, Prometheus did not accept this gift of the first woman. He gave her to his brother Epimetheous, instead.
Strike three.
Earlier, being a champion of humans, Prometheus had taken all the evils in the world and sealed them in a giant jar so that humans could live happily and peacefully. Zeus found the jar and told Hermes to bring it to Pandora as a “gift.” Then he was instructed to tell her, “Do not open this jar.”
To be fair, how would you feel if one of your parents brought you a gleaming package and said, “This is for you! But you can never open it.” What’s the first thing you’d want to do?
Open it, of course!
Which is what Pandora did, releasing all the evil of the world to haunt humanity forever and ever. But even that wasn’t enough for Zeus. He was still so mad, he decided he needed to punish Prometheus even more. So he had the Titan shackled to a rock. Every day a giant eagle attacks him by eating his liver straight out of his writhing body. Every night his liver regenerates, just in time for the eagle to devour it again the next day.
Some say Prometheus was bound on top of an earthly mountain, but that’s not the case. It all happened—and still takes place—right here in Tartaros. Other storytellers claimed that Herakles released Prometheus, freeing him from his eternal punishment. But those are just rumors. He’s still down here. Don’t you hear that terrible wailing of pain and misery? Yeah, that’s him.
Lesson: Don’t make Zeus look bad.
Other famous losers down here include one guy named Ixeon who is tied to a fiery wheel that spins endlessly (he tried to steal Zeus’s wife) and the daughters of Danaus, who are doomed to fill up a water jar with cups punctured with holes. They got that particular water torture for killing their husbands on their daddy’s orders.
I must admit, Tartaros is my favorite place in all of the upper or under worlds. There’s always a show going on, filled with pain, misery, and wailing. I mean, what more could a god of the dead wish for?
OF MONSTERS AND CURSES
SEE THOSE GIANT one-eyed monsters just hanging around the fire pits of Tartaros? They are Cyclopes, immortal giants who have one huge orb-like eye. Do not confuse these gods/monsters with the Cyclops that Odysseus fought in The Odyssey. That monster—Polyphemus—was the son of Poseidon and wasn’t too bright. Plus, he wasn’t immortal.
The Cyclopes (they have the added “e” at the end) are gods, and brothers to the hundred-armed Hekatonkheires. We Olympians also released them from Tartaros during the Titanic war. In gratitude, they gave gifts to my brothers and me. To Zeus, they gave lightning bolts. To Poseidon, they gave a trident. And to me, they gave a helmet of invisibility.
Sometimes my gift was called the “cap” of invisibility. Seriously? Caps are what baseball players wear. Caps are cute. Caps are silly. The king of the underworld does not wear a “cap.” It’s a helmet, people. You wouldn’t call Poseidon’s trident a “shrimp fork,” would you? Or Zeus’s lightning bolts, “sparklers”? So don’t let me hear you say “cap.” Furthermore, I don’t want to hear anything about some wizard-boy’s “Cloak of Invisibility,” either. Mine came first.
This is the same helmet of invisibility, by the way, that I lent to the hero Perseus (another son of Zeus; sigh) so that he could sneak up on the monster Medusa to slay her. If you recall, Medusa was so ugly that if you took one look into her snaky-haired face, you turned to stone. Her two sisters were sometimes considered inhabitants of my underworld because they’re evil storm-spirits who cause shipwrecks at sea.
Because they cause so much death and destruction, I welcome them here anytime.
CURSES AND MORE CURSES
The ancient Greeks and Romans may have been afraid of death and my realm, but that didn’t stop them from invoking me—and the rest of us dark gods—for help in cursing their enemies. Curses, spells, and magic were big business in my day.
And, yeah, some magic was “nice,” like spells for love. But most magic spells had not-so-nice purposes. Many curses, in fact, often called for the complete and utter destruction of the enemies’ physical, emotional, and spiritual selves.
The most popular way to curse someone was by scratching words on a thin sheet of lead where you spelled out—in delicious detail—all the horrible things you wanted to happen to your enemy. You moderns call them “curse tablets.” Sometimes the lead sheets were rolled and bound up with hair from the intended victim (always a nice touch). They were often pierced with iron nails, too.
Occasionally people nailed their curses to temple walls—especially if they were beseeching a particular god for help in smiting someone. Mostly, though, people either buried the curse tablets or threw them into lakes, springs, or wells. The deeper they went, people figured, the faster we underworld gods would see them and set the curses into motion.
EXAMPLES FROM
REAL CURSE TABLETS
Here’s one fairly mild curse from the Roman era by someone who wanted the “Blue team” of charioteers to lose a race:
[B]ind every limb and every sinew of Victoricus, the charioteer of the Blue team … and of the horses he is about to race.… Bind their legs, their onrush, their bounding, their running, blind their eyes so they cannot see and twist their soul and heart so that they cannot breathe. Just as this rooster has been bound by its feet, hands and head, so bind the legs and hands and head and heart of Victoricus, the charioteer of the Blue team, for tomorrow.
That guy must have put some serious money on the Blue team losing. But cursing the horses, too? Way harsh.
Curses against opponents in a court of law were also popular. Here’s one from Athens, aimed at a whole slew of people caught up in a lawsuit:
Theagenes the butcher. I bind his tongue, his soul and the speech he is practicing. Pyrrhias. I bind his tongue, his soul and the speech he is practicing. I bind the wife of Pyrrhias, her tongue and soul. I also bind Kerkion, the butcher, and Dokimos, the butcher, their tongues, their souls and the speech they are practicing. I bind Kineas, his tongue, his soul and the speech he is practicing with Theagenes. And Pherekles. I bind his tongue, his soul and the evidence that he gives for Theagenes …
Did the curse work? Did the guy win his lawsuit? Maybe if you see him down here, you can ask. Yeah, he’ll be down here in Tartaros. Cursing that many people guaranteed it.
Some tablets were aimed at strangers. For example, curse tablets have been found addressed to “the one who stole my cloak” or “the one who took my pig.” Sometimes wax or clay dolls with pins in them accompanied the curse tablets, such as a little clay figurine with bound hands and pins inserted into its eyes, mouth, chest, stomach, and feet. This figurine was someone’s love rival and the curse was aimed at completely destroying her. Clearly, when it came to love and war, my people played to win.
My favorites, though, were the ones that dared to threaten me and the other gods. I mean, seriously? Here’s one by man who wanted us to convince the girl he loved to fall for him. Let’s break down his foolishness, shall we?
I entrust this binding spell to you, gods of the underworld.…
So far, so good. Respectful, anyway. The spell goes on to identify the girl and how he wants her to act.
If you ignore me and fail to carry out quickly what I tell you … Hades and Earth [will not] continue to exist.
Whoa, that escalated quickly. Did he just threaten me with extinction?
Do not ignore me but act very quickly for I have commanded you.
Oh … stupid, stupid mortal.
This guy was commanding me? Clearly, he didn’t know how we worked. Needless to say, none of us helped him. And when he arrived in the underworld, we threw him into Tartaros not only for cursing others, but for hubris— excessive pride—in daring to think that he could command us gods to do his bidding.
We gods could be appealed to, sacrificed to, and bargained with. We could be worshipped, honored, and celebrated. But commanded to obey? I don’t think so.
SPEAKING OF WORSHIP,
WHY DIDN’T THEY?
… Worship me more, that is. As unbelievable as it sounds, there were hardly any priests of Hades and few cult centers devoted to me. Even fewer statues and paintings celebrated my glory.
What was the deal?
Persephone said I should take that as a sign of people’s great fear of me, which is a compliment … sort of. Still, it rankled that there were temples dedicated to just about every minor god known to man but so few for me. I mean, even Herakles had a cult center! At his temples they honored stupidity—er, I mean, brute strength. Gladiators in Rome even had special shrines devoted to that half-man, half-god meat-head.
I should’ve gotten at least that much, don’t you think?
And, okay, occasionally my people tried. Your archaeologists (my buddy Anubis—the ancient Egyptian god of death and embalming—calls them “dirt-diggers”) recently uncovered what they are calling a “gateway to hell” in the ancient city of Hierapolis in Turkey. They uncovered a Roman-era temple complex that the Romans called Plutonium, or “Pluto’s Gate.”
It was basically a gigantic hole in the ground that spewed toxic gas. So the Romans built a temple to me near it.
Yeah, thanks. No, really, you shouldn’t have.
Where were the gifts, flowers, incense, gold, and trinkets my brothers got on a regular basis?
Instead, my so-called temple was more of a tourist site. It overlooked a giant hole in the ground that released vapors that could kill you. In describing this temple, one ancient writer said, “This space is full of a vapor so misty and dense that one can scarcely see the ground. Any animal that passes inside meets instant death.” For fun, this guy threw a couple of sparrows into the area so that he could watch them drop dead as they flew.
