A Perfect Day in the Halls of Olympus

Saturday morning, of course, was perfect. All the days in Olympus were.

Zeus had begun the day as he always did, by visiting the stables of Helios while it was still dark. A dozen or so minor deities were running about, harnessing the mighty horses to the chariot and making sure a thousand little details wee taken care of. Soon Eos came by, trailing silks of blue, purple and red behind her. Helios stepped into his chariot, the doors opened, and as Zeus watched, the chariot of the sun rode into the open sky and morning came to the world of gods and mortals alike.

He could hear them, or at least he imagined he could. There were millions of them now, scattered across not just Achaea and Thessaly, but in countries even he couldn’t see, in lands where diamonds the size of robin’s eggs lay on the ground; on grasslands where birds ran with the speed of a tiger; in frozen wastelands far to the north; and in forests so thick where no sunlight ever touched the ground and people walked in heat, sweat and darkness.

Wherever they went, they were a pestilence on the earth. They fought wars to rule each other for an hour or two; they killed their own brothers to steal their land; and sooner or later they found a reason to break every vow they made for some fleeting comfort or advantage they imagined it would bring.

It was a good thing, Zeus thought as he sat to eat, a good thing for the gods to remain on Olympus. As Hermes sang and played his lyre in the dining hall, Zeus looked down from Olympus at the clouds far below that spread like a blanket across the sky.

It was good.

It was Apollo who brought the news.

“Artemis saw a man last night,” he said. “He was on a horse, and he was coming this way.”

The king of the gods shrugged, and Hermes played on. It was an old song, about the changing of the seasons, and a moment later he began to sang.

“So a mortal was climbing the mountain,” Zeus said. “What of it? They do that from time to time. The mountain is tall, and they all give up after a few days. We are secure here.”

“She said the horse had wings and was flying,” Apollo said and Hermes continued to sing. The verse was about the trees on Earth, and how their leaves withered and fell to the ground.

“Ah,” said Zeus, and he smiled. “She saw a man riding a horse across the surface of the earth. I’ve seen those too. They’ve become quite good at it, haven’t they? They move as naturally and at ease on horseback as a centaur, and their speed is like an arrow in flight. I commend her for the figure of speech.”

“Father,” Apollo said. “It is a flying horse. The man’s name is Bellerophon. He landed in Olympus fifteen minutes ago.”

Zeus lowered his food to his plate, half-eaten, and grew still. Hermes paused, the lyrics to his song forgotten, while a final discordant note shimmered in the air.

“Athena is talking to him now,” Apollo said. “She is wondering how he bred the animal, while Hera is asking him about his lineage, and who his fathers were.”

“That’s impossible,” Zeus said, and he turned his eyes toward the clouds below. They looked like cotton. He turned to Hermes, and told him, “Send to Hephaestos for Stereopes, immediately,” and then to Apollo: “Show me.”

 

THE MAN WAS EXACTLY AS APOLLO HAD SAID. He was standing at the center of one of the green fields in Olympus. A dozen of the gods were standing around marveling at their visitor, who seemed as wonderstruck as they were by what he had done and where he was standing.

The horse, which indeed was winged, grazed contentedly at the clover that grew around. On its head and neck sat a golden bridle. Athena stood by the horse, stroking its flanks with one hand while her gray eyes flicked the length of its body with the far-off, brooding look she usually reserved for plotting strategy.

The shadow of Zeus fell over the other gods where they stood around the mortal, and they parted as if they had been struck with a staff.

“What have we here?”

The question was asked quietly, but it came with an unmistakable authority. The mortal bowed at once, legs bent double, face toward the ground, as his arms spread outward.

“O mighty Zeus, and all you great gods,” the mortal said. “Bellerophon of Corinth I am, mighty Pegasus my horse. Upon his wings have we come, that we might walk the land of the gods and see the gods themselves if we are worthy.”

“Bellerophon of Corinth, you are welcome here,” Zeus said, and his voice echoed among the houses of Olympus like the thunder. He turned and addressed the other immortals nearby, his arms stretched out beside him. “Leave us,” he said, and they filtered away.

Bellerophon raised one arm after Pegasus, his face twisted in anguish, as he saw Athena take his reins and begin to walk him away.

“You need not worry about Pegasus. Athena is wise and well familiar with the care of horses,” Zeus said gently. “Walk a moment with me, Bellerophon of Corinth.” When the mortal paused, Zeus spoke again. “I assure you that Pegasus is in no danger. Athena will care for him well.”

They began to walk away from the center of the field.

“How did you come by such a horse?” the god asked. “Humanity is still young and you cannot already have learned how to mingle birds with horses to make such a creature.”

Bellerophon laughed.

“Mighty Zeus,” he said, “though no matter be hidden from you, yet let it be revealed by own mouth that I know nothing of Pegasus’ birth. Yet it seems less than a handful of years ago, I was tasked with slaying the dread chimera, a monster so foul and unnatural that it bore three heads, including one of a fire-breathing goat, that I despaired of ever gaining victory –”

“I beg your indulgence, Bellerophon, but I have many duties before me this day, and it is already too short,” Zeus said. “More matter and less art, please.”

“Yes, my lord,” Bellerophon said. “I saw him in a dream, and also saw that he might be tamed with a golden bridle, which I placed on him.”

“A dream,” Zeus said quietly, and he smiled heavily but said nothing else. “Are there any others like him?”

“None that I know of, mighty Zeus,” Bellerophon said, and the god gave such a sigh that his face lightened a shade, and they walked on. The houses and estates of Olympus fell behind them, while grass and a few small groves trees rose before them, And after that, endless sky above and a seeming endless cotton field below.

In a moment, they stood at the very edge of Olympus. The side of the mountain sloped down toward the cloud layer miles and miles below. The mighty thunderer sat, and gestured for Bellerophon to join him, and the two looked out over the vast expanse that kept their worlds separate.

“Do you know what is you have done?” he asked Bellerophon.

:The Corinthian grinned widely, and pumped the air with his fists like a man who has overcome an opponent in a match of wrestling.

“I have done what nobody else has ever dared do!” he said, and he laughed with joy. “I have reached the summit of Olympus and beheld the gods themselves. All generations shall remember me for this, and reckon me the greatest of mortals.”

“No,” said Zeus quietly. “They won’t.”

“My god?”

“How kind of you to remember,” Zeus said. The words felt in Bellerophon’s ear like the juice squeezed from an orange onto a wound. “But let me remind you: You are not the first to dare what you have accomplished. You are the first to succeed.”

“I — I don’t understand,” Bellerophon said.

“How long have the gods reigned on Olympus, Bellerophon? Twenty years? A hundred? We’ve been here for millennia, and as mortals have dreamed of us, you’ve dreamed of beings of magnificent beauty. Without seeing us, you’ve been inspired to grow moral, political and spiritual philosophies to guide your lives. Your dreams have inspired you to create art and literature that will survive for ages to come and move others to great things. Tell me, what will you tell them of us in Corinth once you return?”

“I will tell them that you are beautiful, and true; powerful and mysterious –”

“Will you?” Zeus asked. “Or will you tell them that Hephaestos is disfigured and needs help to walk? Will you tell them of the great love we share, or that Aphrodite spends the night not with her husband but in the bed of Ares? Will you speak of celestial harmony, the firm hand of Zeus and the unified will of the gods; or will you talk about the jealous pride of Hera and the constant preparations others make for war, and remind them of the prophecies that just as Ouranos and Cronus were overthrown by their children, so will I? Will you tell them about the all-powerful Zeus, or will you remember an old man with a mole under one eye who was caught off-guard to hear that a mortal had ridden a horse into the middle of Olympus?”

Bellerophon looked at the god, eyes fixed, as his head shook back and forth.

“I would never–”

“You would,” Zeus said, and as he spoke a giant in a gray tunic approached from behind, twelve feet high, with a single eye in his forehead. In his arms the giant carried something golden that sparked and sizzled and twisted about as he held it. “And even if you didn’t, others would hear that you had come, and know it was possible. They would attempt it, as you did; and they would find us, as you have.”

“I have ridden a horse to Olympus,” Bellerophon protested. “It was beautiful. It was glorious.”

“I don’t doubt that it was.” said Zeus, and he took the lightning bolt from the cyclops Steropes. “But beauty and glory are also the provenance of the gods. And sometimes to save the greater beauty and to preserve the deeper glory, we must make sacrifices.”

There was a terrific blast of lightning mixed with thunder, and Zeus returned to his throne room.

 

ATHENA ALREADY WAS WAITING WITH HERMES when Zeus arrived. The leather of her sandals and body armor was worn a little from the drills she had been practicing, and her owl was perched on the leather pad that covered her left shoulder.

“The horse has been stabled,” she said simply. “He has something of the spirit of Poseidon about him.”

Zeus nodded emptily, and lowered himself onto the throne.

“I’ll look into it,” he said. “You know, they say that wisdom sometimes comes from dreams.”

“I’ve heard,” Athena said. Her face was impassive.

“There will be others,” Zeus said. It wasn’t a question or a prediction. It was an observation.

“There will,” Athena said. “And we won’t stop them all, and they’ll carry their stories back home with them. In time they’ll bring us down to their level, and raise themselves up to ours, until one day mortals will walk the halls of Olympus and gods are left in the city streets like common beggars, and no one will remember the difference between us and them anymore.”

“And I suppose you think this is a good thing,” Zeus said, and he rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his hands.

Athena gave him a thin smile.

“If there is nothing else, father, I’ll return to my drills and strategy planning,” she said.

Zeus gave her a wave with his hand, and she walked away. Hermes lifted his lyre and began to sing once more. In his song the grass turned brown as the time for harvesting had passed and the whole earth waited breathlessly for rains to come and bring planting time.

Zeus lifted his face heavenward, and let a solitary tear fall from each eye.

It was another perfect day in Olympus.