Amelia: Reading from The Gates of Horn and Ivory - Chorus

“Persephone, darling! What a joy to have you back home!”

Demeter welcomed her daughter effusively at the mouth of the cave of Cumae and presented her with the traditional sheaf of barley.

The oracle of Cumae bowed deeply to both goddesses, concealing a resentful glare, while Demeter performed a critical assessment of her daughter, staring her up and down in search of things that required attention.

“You look thinner, Persephone. Are you sure you’re eating enough in the underworld? I am concerned.”

“I’m exactly the same, mother. As you well know, we never change.”

“No worries. We’ll make sure to feed you properly as soon as we reach Olympus. I’ve made you a list of tasks, just to get you started on your duties. Dionysus wants to talk to you. Make time for a meeting with him as soon as feasible, will you?”

“Is it about the Dionysia?”

“You’ll have to ask him, I don’t know. I hate to rush you, but we’ll have to leave for Epidaurus early tomorrow, they’ve been waiting for us, there is a large gathering of people this year and the priests think it will take more than one day to address all their needs. While we’re in Epidaurus, the basilissa needs a word with you. I’m not sure what that is about.”

“Is it about the sacred marriage?”

“She didn’t say.”

Demeter remembered the regal poise of the basilissa, whose flawless elegance she’d always admired, and wished her daughter, who could clean up well if she put a drop of effort into the process, would emulate. One couldn’t buy class, one had to be born with it, and the queen of Athens had it in spades. She returned her gaze to her daughter, who could be the gem of Olympus if she didn’t insist on this peasant look, and started wearing something more substantial than flowers in her hair.

She had to grant that one could hardly go into the fields dressed for a party, but her daughter was a queen now, and should have underlings do that in her stead.

“Persephone, how many times do I have to say this? You have to put some effort into your outfits, you look…” she couldn’t find her words for dismay. “Mortal! Don’t you own any jewelry? I don’t understand how your husband doesn’t notice you’re wearing such drab attire! How are things between the two of you?”

Demeter stared at her daughter, who was wearing her white silk chiton, her belt and her golden sandals, but not much in terms of jewelry and precious stones, for telltale signs of a miserable marriage, and then, disappointed, went on to her next comment.

“You know, Ares always asks about you.”

Persephone closed her fist around the little ametrine pebble, her tiny fixed point in reality, and thanked the gods she had managed to elope before her mother picked what she thought would be an appropriate husband for her. Ares! By all the gods in Olympus!

She made a mental note to remind Hades about the promise he’d made to her, that next time the god of war happened to wander off into Tartarus, he would be very hard to find, and returned a polite smile to her mother before she changed the subject.

“Indeed. Mother, it’s so nice to see you! How have you been?”

Demeter shook her head, annoyed at having her matchmaking efforts thwarted, and replied.

“How can I be, Persephone? Thinking of my only child held in that dreadful realm.” The underground imagery brought up the one task she had left off the list. “We had to reschedule the trip to Anatolia for next week, the peninsula is covered in dense fog and Helios doesn’t like to travel through it. Are you listening, daughter?”

“Of course.”

“You seem distracted. Can you pay attention, please? This is important. The women of Locri are planning a festival in your honor, which we’re expected to attend sometime in late May. One would think you’d be happy for a decent social life after being cooped up and lonely underground, with nothing to do all winter. I blame myself. I shouldn’t have yielded to Zeus and accepted this horrible compromise. Better all the earth burned to cinders than to hand my only daughter to…” she stopped short of her epithet, dissuaded by Persephone’s exasperated gaze. “Anyway, it’s all settled now. Not much I can do about it.”

“Did the plantings start?”

“Of course not! They wouldn’t dream of starting without your blessing! Who would be so unwise as not to fear the wrath of the gods?”

“We should start with that,” Persephone replied. Those healthy barley roots in the Underworld had told her the season had started early, and she worried the crops would be held back if not planted immediately.

Demeter was taken aback by her daughter’s comment, which sounded rather mature, and switched to shop talk.

The two discussed the intricacies of planting for a good portion of the trip, and Demeter sent the cliff notes of the conversation through Hermes, so that when they arrived to Olympus, an entire army of dryads and nymphs would be waiting to execute their instructions.

She retreated in her thoughts after that, looking down at the freshly awakened landscape, and pondering on how her naïve daughter missed the opportunity to land such an auspicious match as Ares, who seemed to show interest in her!

Persephone could have been Hera’s and Zeus’s daughter-in-law by now.

Talk about privilege!

She could have had her pick of assignments, larger temples, endless worship. Maybe she would even get her own city, like Athena, to worship her exclusively. What a waste!

Sure Ares was a meathead, but who cared? What else could one expect from a male god? They all stepped out, sooner or later, what mattered was her daughter’s status and the favor of Olympus.

On the other side of the chariot, Persephone smiled, feeling her little crystal pebble get warmer in her palm.

It held inside the beauty of her gardens, the splendid spectacle of the river Phlegethon, slithering like a fire serpent inside its dark gemstone banks, the bronze gates, so intimidating in their impenetrable starkness, Hades and her home, the muses’ giggles, the rosy hue of the Blessed Isles in the distance.

Her entire life was condensed in that little crystal, which shifted from gold to purple when sunlight touched it.

Reality is strange like that: all the riches of the world can’t make you feel as safe as a single symbol can.

“Welcome home, mistress,” Angelos prostrated herself at her feet, waiting for the traditional blessing.

“Praise the wisdom of Olympus!” Persephone promptly obliged. “Rise, daimona. I’ve missed you.”

“No more than I missed you, mistress.”

“What have you got for me?” Persephone continued walking, with Angelos by her side, going through the long scroll of activities and requests her daimona had gathered over the winter.

“The Telesterion sent word: the priests would like to confer with you regarding ritual as soon as you have a moment. The planting schedule is ready for your blessing. It seems rather urgent. There’s been a situation with the sibyl of Cumae, something about the Cerberus. I’m not sure about the details, but Zeus wants to talk to you personally. I told him you’d be available tomorrow, maybe before you leave for Epidaurus.”

“Where is my Cerberus now?” Persephone turned towards her daimona, in a panic.

“In Hades, mistress, as far as I know,” Angelos replied, surprised. “Shouldn’t it be there?”

“Never mind,” Persephone frowned, thinking she needed to see Hermes before her meeting with Zeus anyway, so the two of them could get their stories straight, and she would find out what happened to her puppy then.

“Hera is unhappy with the Hesperides; it seems they’re not the sharpest bunch, and they’re slacking in their duties,” Demeter interrupted.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“They’re your subjects.”

’Of course they are,’ Persephone brooded over the fact that the daughters of Nyx, who hadn’t stepped foot in the underworld since Hera’s wedding, still counted as her responsibility.

“See? If you didn’t rush into an unwise marriage, you could have had an orchard just like Hera’s! Everybody envies her for those golden apples!”

Persephone continued walking in silence.

“Say something, daughter! So help me, I want to shake you sometimes, just to find out if you’re still alive. Speak to me!”

“The golden apples can be very useful, mother.”

“Too bad! You missed your chance. You couldn’t compete with Aphrodite, anyway,” she pondered, bitter. “It’s so frustrating, Persephone! You had every advantage in creation, and you keep wallowing in this barely alive state, like nothing holds any meaning to you. Don’t you have any pride? Don’t you have any ambitions for yourself? Half the time, I wonder if you’re still there.”

This is an excerpt from the novel The Gates of Horn and Ivory, which can be found here.

Thank you for reading.

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