A Song for the Underworld: The Story of Orpheus and Eurydice

Mythologia III

A SONG FOR THE UNDERWORLD

The Story of Orpheus and Eurydice

CONTENTS

Copyright

Newsletter

Hymn I

1. The God and the Muse

2. The Gift

3. The Birth of Love

4. Oh Hymenaie!

Hymn II

5. The Covetous Herdsman

6. Slithering Death

7. The Silent Strings

Hymn III

8. Paths of the Dead

9. Lord of the Underworld

10. Toward the Light

11. A Life Without Love

Thank you for Reading

Author’s Note

Become a Patron

About the Author

Stay Connected

A SONG FOR THE UNDERWORLD

and the Mythologia series

Copyright © 2021 by Adam Alexander Haviaras

Eagles and Dragons Publishing, Stratford, Ontario, Canada

All Rights Reserved.

The use of any part of this publication, with the exception of short excerpts for the purposes of book reviews, without the written consent of the author is an infringement of copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-988309-45-3

E-pub Edition

Cover design by Eagles and Dragons Publishing

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Oh, if I had Orpheus' voice and poetry

with which to move the Dark Maid and her Lord,

I'd call you back, dear love, from the world below.

I'd go down there for you. Charon or the grim

King's dog could not prevent me then

from carrying you up into the fields of light.

EURIPIDES, ALCESTIS

A SONG FOR THE UNDERWORLD

The Story of Orpheus and Eurydice

ADAM ALEXANDER HAVIARAS

HYMN I

THE JOYOUS HEARTS

CHAPTER 1

THE GOD AND THE MUSE

Every event in this world, on the mortal and immortal planes of the cosmos, in those hidden places between time and space, has a song. It starts with a single note, and that note resonates, spreading wide like the ripples of a great pond in the heavens, until it touches man and god alike.

Some songs will last, while others will be short-lived, though the memory of them lingers for those few who have been touched by their sacred notes.

Then there are songs that resonate for eternity, songs that grant those who listen a glimpse of the mysteries of the world, that make the heart shudder as if for the first time in an age.

On a bright, midsummer night, when Selene cast her silver light over the length and breadth of the land of Boeotia, just such a song began, so strong and beauty-filled, that its notes reached the halls of Olympus itself.

It was then that the Gods took notice and knew that something momentous was about to happen, and so they turned their timeless eyes to the eastern slopes of high Helicon, where the boar and bear roam, to peer into the lush, silver-green of a valley.

A song was about to begin…

Come, Sister! said Clio as she and Euterpe supported Calliope between them. We are almost at the spring. There, you can endure your labour.

Calliope cried out, the pain too great to bear, too much for her immortal legs to carry her. Sweat poured from her brow, matting her dark hair to her skin. She felt another tremor of pain beginning deep within and braced herself for its peak. When it came, her voice shattered the night, sending owls screeching from their nocturnal perches.

Erato, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia and Urania walked in a circle about the three, their torches casting a protective light as they made their way along the rock and dirt path beneath the boughs of pine and cypress to the spring.

There it is! Erato called out, rushing ahead so that the others could follow her light. The spring of Hippocrene!

Clio and Euterpe went forward to a mossy bed about the base of a nearby oak tree and set their sister down upon it.

Calliope’s breaths were quick and measured, but the pain was becoming unbearable, and she cried out again.

Where is your husband? Melpomene asked. Where is King Oeagrus?

Calliope shook her head. He is not near. He is fighting.

He is always fighting! Clio said angrily as she pressed a cup to Calliope’s lips. Here. Drink of the spring. It will soothe your labour.

Calliope drank and felt reserves of strength within opened up. Then another pain racked her body and her sky-blue eyes shot wide. Ahhh!

The cries travelled up the mountainside such that they would have cracked the sapling bodies of green trees.

With tears for her sister’s pain running in rivulets from her star-searching eyes, Urania stepped into the moonlight where it painted the soft grass, and raised her hands.

Oh, venerable Eileithyia, we call upon you, sister of the Fates. Come to us here that you may bring relief to our sister in labour’s dreadful hour… Urania closed her eyes, her thoughts and words reaching up into the heavens, and when she felt the rustling of the wind in her hair, she opened them to see the goddess before her. Thank you.

Eileithyia smiled and nodded and her keen, dark eyes looked beyond Urania to where Calliope lay beneath the oak, braced against its sturdy trunk, her sweaty peplos hoisted about her knees.

There, there now, Eileithyia soothed, her voice calm like the surface of the sea on a summer morning. I am here now, and just as I helped bring Bright-Eyed Athena into this world, so too shall I help your child. The goddess closed her eyes and placed her hands upon Calliope’s swollen belly, and by her very touch, it was as if both mother and child relaxed, the pain subsiding like the waves of a crashing tide pulling back out to the deep.

The other muses looked on as the goddess went to work, placing her hands upon Calliope, her own breathing guiding her, setting the rhythm needed for birthing. Prepare now, she said, allowing Calliope to brace herself against her.

Ahhh! Calliope cried out, tears falling from her eyes. My lord! she called out desperately.

It was then that the wind picked up, cool against her sweaty skin, and from out of the dark, wooded slopes, Far-Shooting Apollo came running, his cloak billowing behind him as he dropped his bow and fell to his knees beside Calliope and Eileithyia.

The muses bowed at his coming, but he had eyes only for Calliope whose hand he grasped and kissed.

I am here, he said to her, ignoring the goddess beside him who had not deigned to aid his own mother in her painful labour. Look at me, he commanded, and Calliope gazed into his star-whirling eyes. Your son is here. His song is about to begin. You have seen this moment.

Calliope nodded, her breathing steadying.

It is time, Eileithyia said, her voice tender as she helped the muse to position herself. You must push… Now!

Calliope held Apollo’s gaze as she pushed, once…twice…three times…until, at last, the cries of the child pierced the night air.

With water from the sacred spring, Eileithyia rinsed the child and swaddled him in Apollo’s blue cloak. She turned to Calliope who lay exhausted against the body of the oak. Your son, oh Mousa. He is beautiful and healthy.

Calliope reached out to accept her child into her arms, and in doing so she felt her pain dwindle as though it were a fleeting memory. Her heart beat as her child rested upon her breast, his crying subsided. Welcome, my son. She looked up at Apollo.

The god knelt beside her and smiled. He is beautiful, Apollo said as he looked upon the child and stroked Calliope’s hair and cheek.

The other muses gathered around to gaze upon their sister’s son, and as they did so, their voices were raised in song, and that song spread from the sacred spring, through the trees, and up the mountain slopes to break free of the valley into the sky where Dawn was only just beginning to paint it with shades of rose, blue and fiery orange.

Eileithyia saw to it that the child suckled at his divine mother’s breast, and then stood to wash her hands in a broad wooden bowl of the sacred water.

Thank you for coming to her, Goddess, Urania said to Eileithyia. She was in great pain.

Eileithyia smiled, but in her eyes there was something of sadness. I bring relief from pain. She put her hand to Urania’s cheek. It is the lot of my own sisters, the Morai, to bring pain. She glanced at Calliope and her son. But they were not here, she added. Not yet. The goddess bowed politely to the muse, and then turned to leave, to disappear into the darkness of the wood beyond where the morning light had not yet presented itself.

Apollo stepped to Urania’s side to watch her leave, and with a final glance back at the Far-Shooter, Eileithyia was gone.

Apollo lingered with the Muses there, at Hippocrene, for some days. They were days of music and song and peace. They were days of hope, such that Apollo believed the child, by his very presence, cast a spell over the world, soothed all of their toils and worries. Even the child’s wailing did not strike the plaintive notes that so often burst from newborn’s mouths.

And the child’s eyes… He had his mother’s eyes, radiant like the bluest skies on a clear summer day. But there was more, for in them there was a sense of deepest feeling.

As Calliope suckled her child in the shade of the broad oak, she could not help but gaze into those eyes and smile, and so it was for all of her sisters who danced and sang and played upon the reed flute from dawn until dusk. As she looked upon her son, Calliope could see that with every note, every beautiful word her sisters uttered, he paused and took notice. You shall be a wonder, my son, she whispered to him, kissing the crown of his dark head.

Other creatures were drawn to that place too, but not to cool themselves at the spring created by Pegasus himself. No. Through the glade, birds and beasts passed in a