Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

‘But …’ began Calanthe

‘We thought …’ stammered Zona.

And then both together: ‘Sister!’

Psyche came towards them, her hands held out and the sweetest smile of tender sisterly love lighting up her face. Calanthe and Zona each took a hand to kiss.

‘You are alive!’

‘And so … so …’

‘This dress – it must have cost, that is to say it looks …’

‘And you look …’ said Zona, ‘so … so … Calanthe, whatever is the word?’

‘Happy?’ suggested Psyche.

‘Something,’ her sisters agreed. ‘You definitely look something.’

‘But tell us, Psyche, dearest …’

‘What happened to you?’

‘Here we are mourning, sobbing our hearts out for you.’

‘Who gave you that dress?’

‘How did you get off the rock?’

‘Is it real gold?’

‘Did a monster come for you? A beast? An ogre?’

‘And that material.’

‘A dragon perhaps?’

‘How do you keep it from creasing?’

‘Did it take you to its den?’

‘Who does your hair?’

‘Did it try to chew your bones?’

‘That can’t be a real emerald can it?’

Laughing, Psyche held up a hand. ‘Dear sisters! I will tell you everything. Better, I will show you everything. Come, wind, take us there!’

Before the sisters knew what was happening the three of them were lifted from their feet and were travelling swiftly through the air, safe in the arms of the West Wind.

‘Don’t fight it. Relax into it,’ said Psyche as Zephyrus swept them up over the mountain. Zona’s howls began to subside and Calanthe’s muffled sobs softened to a whimper. Before long they were even able to open their eyes for a few seconds without screaming.

When the wind finally set them down on the grass in front of the enchanted palace Calanthe had decided that this was the only way to travel.

‘Who needs a stupid horse pulling a rickety rackety old chariot?’ she said. ‘From now on I catch the wind …’

But Zona wasn’t listening. She was staring transfixed at the walls, the turrets and the silver studded door of the palace, all glittering in the morning sun.

‘Come in,’ said Psyche. What an exciting feeling, to show her dear sisters around her new home. It was a pity they couldn’t meet her darling husband.

To say that the girls were impressed would be criminally to understate the matter. Naturally therefore they sniffed, yawned, tittered, shook their heads and generally tut-tutted their way from golden apartment to golden apartment by silver-panelled corridors and jewel-encrusted passageways. Their tilted, wrinkled noses seemed to suggest that they were used to better.

‘Just a little vulgar, don’t we feel, darling?’ Zona suggested. Inside she said to herself, ‘This is the home of a god!’

Calanthe was thinking, ‘If I just stop and pretend to fix the laces of my sandals I could break off one of the rubies encrusting that chair …’

When the invisible staff of stewards, footmen and handmaidens began serving lunch the sisters found it harder to mask their wonder and astonishment. Afterwards they each took turns to be oiled, bathed and massaged.

Pressed for details of the castle’s lord, Psyche remembered her promise and hastily made something up.

‘He’s a handsome huntsman and local landowner.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘The kindest eyes.’

‘And his name is …?’

‘He’s so sorry to miss you. I’m afraid he always takes to the field with his hounds by day. He wanted so much to greet you personally. Perhaps another time.’

‘Yes, but what’s he called?’

‘He – he doesn’t really have a name.’

‘What?’

‘Well, he has a name. Obviously he has a name, everyone has a name, Zona, I mean really! But he doesn’t use it.’

‘But what is it?’

‘Oh my goodness, quick! It’ll be dark soon. Zephyrus won’t fly you at night … Come, dear sisters, help yourselves to some little things to take home. Here’s a handful of amethysts. These are sapphires. There’s gold, silver … Be sure to take gifts for mother and father too.’

Loaded with precious treasures the sisters allowed themselves to be transported back to the rock. Psyche, who had stood and waved them off, was both relieved and sorry to see them go. While she welcomed their company and the chance to show them round and give them presents, her determination to keep the promise she had made to her husband had made the evasion of all their questions an exhausting business.

Back home the sisters – despite the fabulous treasures they now possessed – were eaten up with envy, resentment and fury. How could their younger sister, the stupid, selfish Psyche, now find herself in the position more or less of a goddess? It was so appallingly unfair. Spoiled, vain, ugly creature! Well, not ugly, perhaps. Possessed of a certain obvious and rather vulgar prettiness, but scarcely a match for their queenly beauty. It was all too monstrously unjust: there was almost certainly witchcraft and wickedness at the bottom of it. How could she not even know the name of her lord and master?

‘My husband Sato’s rheumatism,’ said Calanthe, ‘is getting so bad that every night I have to rub his fingers one by one, then apply plasters and poultices. It’s disgusting and demeaning.’