Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

‘Why thank you,’ said the unsuspicious Semele with a friendly smile.

‘Walk with me,’ said the hag, pulling Semele towards her with her cane. ‘Let me lean upon you.’

Semele was polite and considerate by nature in a culture where the elderly were in any case accorded the greatest attention and respect, so she accompanied the old woman and endured her roughness without complaint.

‘My name is Beroë,’ said the old woman.

‘And I am Semele.’

‘What a pretty name! And here is Asopos,’ Beroë indicated the clear waters of the river.

‘Yes,’ assented Semele, ‘that is the river’s name.’

‘I heard tell,’ here the old woman’s voice lowered into a harsh whisper, ‘that a priestess of Zeus was seduced here. Right here in the reeds.’

Semele went silent, but the flush that spread instantly up her neck to her cheeks betrayed her as completely as any spoken words.

‘Oh, my dear!’ screeched the crone. ‘It was you! And now that I look, I can see your belly. You are with child!’

‘I … I am …’ said Semele with a becoming mixture of diffidence and pride. ‘But … if you can keep a secret …?’

‘Oh, these old lips never tell tales. You may tell me anything you wish, my dear.’

‘Well, the fact is that the father of this child is – none other than Zeus himself.’

‘No!’ said Beroë. ‘You don’t say so? Really?’

Semele gave a very affirmative nod of the head. She did not like the old woman’s sceptical tone. ‘Truly. The King of the Gods himself.’

‘Zeus? The great god Zeus? Well, well. I wonder … No, I mustn’t say.’

‘Say what, lady?’

‘You seem such a sweet innocent. So trusting. But, my dear, how can you know that it was Zeus? Isn’t that exactly what some wicked seducer might say just to win you?’

‘Oh no, it was Zeus. I know it was Zeus.’

‘Bear with an old woman and describe him to me, my child.’

‘Well, he was tall. He had a beard. Strong. Kindly …’

‘Oh no, I’m sorry to say so, but that is hardly the description of a god.’

‘But it was Zeus, it was! He turned himself into an eagle. I saw it with my very own eyes.’

‘That’s a trick that can be taught. Fauns and demigods can do it. Even some mortal men.’

‘It was Zeus. I felt it.’

‘Hm …’ Beroë sounded doubtful. ‘I have lived amongst the gods. My mother is Tethys and my father Oceanus. I raised and nursed the young gods after they were reborn from Kronos’s stomach. It’s true. I know their ways and their natures and I tell you this, my daughter. When a god manifests himself or herself as they truly are it is like a great explosion. A wondrous thing of force and fire. Unforgettable. Unmistakable.’

‘And that’s just what I felt!’

‘What you felt was no more than the ecstasy of mortal love-making. Depend upon it. Tell me now, will this lover of yours come to you again?’

‘Oh, yes indeed. He visits me faithfully every change of the moon.’

‘If I were you,’ said the old woman, ‘I would make him promise to reveal himself to you as he really is. If he is Zeus you will know it. Otherwise I fear you have been made a fool of, and you are far too lovely and trusting and sweet-natured for that to be allowed. Now, leave me to contemplate the view. Shush, shush, go away.’

And so Semele left the crone, growing more and more hotly indignant all the while. She could not help it, but this warty and wrinkled old creature had got under her skin. So typical of old age to try to take away any pleasure that youth might feel. Her own sisters, Autonoë, Ino and Agave, had disbelieved her when she told them proudly of how she loved Zeus and Zeus loved her. They had shrieked with incredulous mocking laughter and called her a gullible fool. And now this Beroë doubted her story too.

Yet maybe, just maybe there was something in what her sisters and the old witch said. Gods surely had more to them than warm flesh and solid muscle, appealing as those were? ‘Well,’ Semele said to herself, ‘two more nights and there’ll be a new moon in the sky, and then I can prove that nasty interfering old hag wrong.’

Had Semele chanced to turn and look back towards the river, she might have witnessed the extraordinary sight of that nasty interfering old hag, now youthful, beautiful, magisterial and imperious, rising up to the clouds in a purple and gold chariot drawn by a dozen peacocks. And had she the gift of second sight, Semele might have been granted a vision of the actual BEROË, innocent old nurse of the gods, living out her life miles away in respectable retirement on the coast of Phoenicia.fn2

The Manifestationfn3

It was with some impatience that, on the night of the new moon, Semele paced up and down by the banks of River Asopos, awaiting her lover. He arrived at last, this time as a stallion – black, glossy and fine, galloping through the fields towards her as the sun set in the west behind him, seeming to set his mane on fire. Oh, how she loved him!

He let her stroke his flanks and palm his hot nostrils before he transformed himself into the shape she knew and loved so well. Hugging and holding him hard, she began to cry.