Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

‘Of course, my love, of course. Where are my manners?’ Philemon stooped down and blew into the hearth, awakening the embers.

‘Let me take your cloaks,’ said Baucis. ‘Have a seat, sir, by the fire. And you, sir, I beg.’

‘That is most kind,’ said the older of the two. ‘My name is Astrapos, and this is my son Arguros.’

The younger man bowed at the mention of his name with something of a flourish and seated himself beside the fire. ‘We are very thirsty,’ he said, with a loud yawn.

‘You must have something to drink,’ said Baucis. ‘Husband, you fetch the wine jug and I shall bring dried figs and pine nuts. I hope you gentlemen will consent to dine with us. We can’t offer rich fare, but you would be most welcome.’

‘Don’t mind if we do,’ said Arguros.

‘Let me take your hat and staff …’

‘No, no. They stay with me.’ The young man pulled the staff close to him. It was of a most curious design. Was it a vine that was carved all around it, Baucis wondered? He was twisting it so deftly that the whole thing seemed alive.

‘I’m afraid,’ said Philemon coming forward with a jug of wine, ‘that you may find our local wine a little thin and perhaps a little … sharp. People from neighbouring regions mock us for it, but I assure you that once you are used to the taste it can be really quite drinkable. We think so at least.’

‘Not bad,’ said Arguros after a sip. ‘How did you get the cat to sit on the jug?’

‘Ignore him,’ said Astrapos. ‘He thinks he’s amusing.’

‘Well, I have to admit that was rather funny,’ said Baucis, approaching with fruit and nuts on a wooden plate. ‘I hate to think, young sir, what you’re going to say about the appearance of my dried figs.’

‘You’re wearing a blouse so I can’t see them. But the preserved fruit on this plate looks pleasant enough.’

‘Sir!’ Baucis slapped him playfully and went very pink. What a strange young man.

The slight awkwardness that usually attends the drink and nibbles phase of an evening was quickly mellowed by the cheek and cheerfulness of Arguros and the ready laughter of their hosts. Astrapos seemed to be of a gloomier disposition, and as they went to the table Philemon put a hand on his shoulder.

‘I hope you will forgive the inquisitiveness of a foolish old man, sir,’ he said, ‘but you seem a little distracted. Is there anything we can help you with?’

‘Oh, ignore him. He’s always down in the dumps,’ said Arguros. ‘That’s where he gets his clothes from, haha! But, in truth, there’s nothing wrong with him that a good meal won’t put right.’

Baucis met Philemon’s eyes for a brief instant. There was so little in the larder. A side of salted bacon that they had been saving for the midwinter feast, some preserved fruit and black bread, half a cabbage. They knew they would go hungry for a week if they fed so much as half the appetites of two such hearty men. But hospitality was a sacred thing and the needs of guests must always come first.

‘Another glass of that wine wouldn’t hurt,’ said Arguros.

‘Oh dear,’ said Philemon, looking at the jug, ‘I fear that there isn’t any more …’

‘Nonsense,’ said Arguros snatching it away, ‘plenty left.’ He filled his cup and then Astrapos’s too.

‘How strange,’ said Philemon. ‘I could have sworn the pitcher was only a quarter full.’

‘Where are your cups?’ asked Arguros.

‘Oh please, we don’t need any …’

‘Nonsense,’ Arguros leaned back in his chair and reached for two wooden beakers on the side-table behind him. ‘Now then … Let’s have a toast.’

Philemon and Baucis were amazed, not only that there was enough wine in the pitcher to fill their beakers to the brim, but that its quality was so much better than either of them remembered. In fact, unless they were dreaming, it was the most delicious wine they had ever tasted.

In something of a daze, Baucis wiped the table down with mint leaves.

‘Darling,’ Philemon whispered in her ear, ‘that goose that we were going to sacrifice to Hestia next month. It’s surely more important to feed our guests. Hestia will understand.’

Baucis agreed. ‘I’ll go out and wring its neck. See if you can get the fire hot enough to give it a fine roasting.’

The goose, however, would not be caught. No matter how carefully Baucis waited and pounced, it leapt honking from her grasp every time. She returned to the cottage in a state of agitated disappointment.

‘Gentlemen I am so very sorry,’ she said, and there were tears in her eyes. ‘I’m afraid your meal will be crude and disagreeable.’

‘Tush, lady,’ said Arguros, pouring more wine for everyone. ‘I’ve never partaken of a finer feast.’

‘Sir!’

‘It’s true. Tell them, father.’

Astrapos gave a grim smile. ‘We have been turned away from every house in Eumeneia. Some of the townspeople swore at us. Some spat at us. Some threw stones at us. Some set dogs on us. Yours was the last house we tried and you have shown us nothing but kindness and a spirit of xenia that I was beginning to fear was vanished from the world.’