Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

‘You think your life is hell?’ said Zona. ‘My Charion is as bald as an onion, his breath stinks and he has all the sex drive of a dead pig. While Psyche …’

‘That selfish slut …’

The sisters clung to each other and sobbed their hearts out.

That night Psyche’s lover Eros had momentous news for her. She was pouring out all her gratitude to him, and explaining how well she had managed to avoid describing him to her sisters, when he placed his finger on her lips.

‘Sweet, trusting child. I fear those sisters and what they may do to you. But I am glad you are happy. Let me make you happier still.’ She felt his warm hand slide down her front and gently stroke her belly. ‘Our child is growing there.’

Psyche gasped and hugged him close, stunned with joy.

‘If you keep this secret,’ he said, ‘the child will be a god. If you tell a living soul, it will be mortal.’

‘I will keep the secret,’ said Psyche. ‘But before my condition becomes obvious let me at least see Calanthe and Zona one more time and say goodbye to them.’

Eros was troubled but could not see how he might deny so decent and sisterly a request, and so he assented.

‘Zephyrus will send them a sign and they will come,’ he said, leaning forward to kiss her. ‘But remember, not a word about me or about our baby.’

A Drop of Oil

The next morning Calanthe and Zona awoke to feel the breath of Zephyrus ruffling at them like a hungry pet dog panting and pawing at the bedclothes. When they opened their eyes and sat up the wind departed, but their instinct, greed and inborn cunning told them what the signal meant, and they hurried to the rock to await their transport. This time they were determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of their sister’s lover.

Psyche was there to welcome them when they were set down in front of the palace. Embracing her fondly the sisters hid the furious envy they felt at Psyche’s good fortune, presenting instead a flurry of solicitous clucking and tutting, accompanied by much head-shaking.

‘Whatever is the matter, Calanthe?’ a puzzled Psyche asked as she sat them down to a great breakfast of fruit, cakes and honey-wine. ‘Why so sorrowful, Zona? Are you not happy to see me?’

‘Happy?’ groaned Calanthe.

‘If only,’ Zona sighed.

‘What can be worrying you?’

‘Ah, child, child,’ said Calanthe with a moan. ‘You are so young. So sweet. So guileless.’

‘So easy to take advantage of.’

‘I don’t understand.’

The sisters looked at each other as if weighing up whether to reveal harsh truths.

‘How well – if at all – do you know this … this thing that comes nightly to visit you?’

‘He’s not a thing!’ protested Psyche.

‘Of course he’s a thing. He’s the monster foretold by the oracle.’

‘Scaly, I’ll bet,’ said Zona. ‘Or, if not scaly, hairy.’

‘He’s nothing of the sort,’ said Psyche indignantly. ‘He’s young and beautiful and kind. Soft skin, firm muscles –’

‘What colour are his eyes?’

‘Well …’

‘Is he blond or dark?’

‘Darling sisters,’ said Psyche, ‘can you keep a secret?’

Calanthe and Zona craned in close and pawed their sister lovingly.

‘Can we keep a secret? What a question!’

‘The thing is,’ said Psyche, ‘well, the thing is I don’t actually know what he looks like. I’ve never seen him, only … well … felt him.’

‘What?’ Calanthe was shocked.

‘You mean you’ve never so much as looked upon his face?’

‘He insists that I must not see him. He comes to me in the blackest black of night, slips between the sheets and we … well, we … you know …’ Psyche blushed. ‘But I can trace his outlines and what I feel is not the body of a monster. It is the body of a splendid and marvellous man. Just, in the morning, he’s gone.’

‘Oh, you silly goose!’ tittered Zona. ‘Don’t you know –’ She broke off here as if afraid to go on.

The sisters exchanged sorrowful and knowing glances.

‘Oh dear …’

‘Psyche doesn’t know!’

Calanthe responded with a sound that was something between a titter and a sigh.

Psyche looked from one to the other in perplexity. ‘Know what?’

Calanthe put her arms around her and explained, with Zona interposing her own observations and affirmations. The worst and most dreadful monsters – indeed the very kind that Apollo’s oracle had predicted would devour her! – possessed powers – always have done, were known for having, were celebrated the world over for having them! – the power, for example, to transform themselves, to take on deceitful shapes – forms that might seem thrilling and attractive to the touch of a young girl – but this was only to win the trust of the innocent – the innocent and foolish! – so as one day to plant their demonic seed inside her – poor girl, she doesn’t understand these things, but men can do this – and cause her to give birth to a new abomination, an even more terrible monster – a mutation – it’s how they breed, how they propagate their vile species.

Psyche held up a hand. ‘Stop! Please! I know you mean well, but you don’t know how tender, how kind, how gentle …’

‘That’s their way! That’s exactly their way!’