Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

The achievement of outsmarting the progeny of the trickster god went to Sisyphus’s head. He began to believe that he really was the cleverest and most resourceful man in the world. He set himself up as a kind of royal problem-solver, pronouncing on all manner of issues brought to him and charging enormous sums for his rulings. But there is a difference between guile and good sense, cunning and judgement, quick-wittedness and wisdom.

Do you recall the Asopos? It was in the waters of this Boeotian river that the Theban priestess Semele had washed, attracting the attentions of Zeus and bringing about the birth of Dionysus. Unhappily the god of that river had a daughter, AEGINA, who was beautiful enough to catch Zeus’s eye. In the form of an eagle the god swooped down and seized the girl, taking her to an island off the coast of Attica. The distraught river god searched everywhere for her, asking everyone he met if they had seen any sign of his beloved daughter.

‘A young girl, dressed in goatskin, you say?’ responded Sisyphus when his turn came to be pressed for information. ‘Why, yes, I saw just such a maiden snatched up by an eagle not long ago. She had been bathing in the river when he dived out of the sun … It was the most –’

‘Where did he take her? Did you see?’

‘Are those bracelets real gold? I must say they are very fine.’

‘Take them, they are yours. Only for pity’s sake tell me what happened to Aegina.’

‘I was high on a hill so I saw the whole thing. The eagle took her to – that ring of yours, an emerald, is it? Why thank you, now let me see … Yes, they flew across the sea and landed there, on that island. Come to the window. You can just make it out on the horizon, see? Oenone, they call the island, I believe. That’s where you’ll find them. Oh, are you leaving?’

Asopos chartered a boat and made his way to the island. He hadn’t made it halfway over before Zeus saw him coming and sent a thunderbolt across his bows. Its blast swept Asopos and his boat in a great tidal bore up his own estuary and into his river.fn3

But Sisyphus! Zeus had had his eye on that villain for some time. It had not gone unnoticed to the god of xenia that Sisyphus had a history of abusing the guests that travelled in his lands. Taxing them, plundering their treasures, making free with their women, shamelessly transgressing every canon of the sacred laws of hospitality. And now he presumed to interfere in matters that were none of his business, to meddle in the affairs of his betters, to tell tales on the King of the Gods himself. It was time to take measures. An example must be set that would serve as a warning to others. Death and damnation to him.

Despite Sisyphus’s royal blood, his life had been too wicked, too shameless, Zeus ruled, to merit the dignity of his being conducted to the underworld by Hermes. Instead Thanatos, Death himself, was sent to shackle and escort him.

Cheating Death

Inasmuch as so gloomy a spirit was capable of so cheerful an emotion, Thanatos always enjoyed that moment when he manifested himself in front of those marked down for death.

Appearing before them, and visible to no one else, his gaunt form cloaked in black, wisps of hellish gasses streaming from him, he would stretch out his arm to his victims with a cruelly deliberate slowness. The moment he touched their flesh with the tip of his bony finger there would come a piteous whimper from the soul within them. Thanatos took great delight in watching his victim’s skin go pale and the eyes flutter and film over as life was extinguished. Above all he loved the sound of the soul’s last shuddering sigh as it emerged from its mortal carcass and submitted itself to his manacles, ready to be led away.

Sisyphus, like most wily, ambitious schemers, was a light sleeper. His mind was always turning, and the slightest noise could jerk him awake. Thus it was that even the silent whisper of Death gliding into his bedchamber caused him to sit up.

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Who the hell indeed? The Hell is just who I am. Mwahahaha!’ Thanatos unloosed the sinister, ghoulish laugh that so often sent dying mortals screaming mad.

‘Stop groaning. What’s the matter with you? Have you got toothache? Indigestion? And don’t talk in riddles. What is your name?’

‘My name …’ Thanatos paused for effect. ‘My name …’

‘I haven’t got all night.’

‘My name is …’

‘Have you even got a name?’

‘Thanatos.’

‘Oh, so you’re Death, are you? Hm.’ Sisyphus seemed unimpressed. ‘I thought you’d be taller.’

‘Sisyphus, son of Aeolus,’ Thanatos intoned in quelling accents, ‘King of Corinth, Lord of …’

‘Yes, yes, I know who I am. You’re the one who seems to have trouble remembering his name. Sit down, why don’t you? Take the weight off your feet.’

‘My weight is not on my feet. I am hovering.’

Sisyphus looked down at the floor. ‘Oh yes, so you are. And you’ve come for me have you?’