The Hysminean Rhapsody Ch. 01

Stefanos' Note: Only twice in my life I'd heard this long tale from Papa Aiodos in full. Then my family emigrated from Greece. In subsequent years, I searched frantically for this amazing epic, both online and offline, but to no avail. I was beginning to wonder if it is actually composed by Papa Aoidos himself. In any case, a few years back I bumped into Melissa, his granddaughter. She told me Papa Aoidos passed away not too long after I left Athens. God bless that gentle soul. Luckily, he bequeathed the manuscript of the Hysminean Rhapsody to her. So at last, I laid my hands on the full poem, written in Greek of course, in the traditional epic meter. But here I present to you my own translation of it in English, in free verse. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did!

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Sing to me, GODDESS, of the ill-fated quest of those pitiful heroines of Euxine. Twelve vixens in their tantalising youth, proud and reckless. On the golden sand of Delos they fought their murderous duels, goaded on by rage and jealousy, unleashing upon the world the harrowing spirits of the Hysminai, burning forever since, deep within the heart of every woman.

Begin, MUSE, with the daughters of Helios, and their ruthless allies, swept away by their own maddening fury after sacking Athens, pillaged and burned to the rubble the sacred Temple of Athena. Drowned in wild cries of frenzy, they plundered its treasures, and slaughtered its priests.

Grey-bearded Creon, that aged king of Athens, terrified, cowered under Athena's statue, and cried out to the goddess, "Hear me, Athena! Wise goddess, patron of my city. Look! These acts of sacrilege in your shrine. If my pious people ever pleased your heart, listen to this prayer. Strike those wretched Amazons dead with your father's thunderbolt..." But his head, severed by a brutal blow before he could finish his curse, leaving his decapitated body still clung tightly to the statue of the goddess, spilling upon it his dark blood.

Bright-eyed Athena heard Creon's broken prayer high up on Mount Olympus. Fuming with anger, the goddess took her father's deadly thunderbolts, about to strike. But mighty Zeus, king of gods, held his favourite daughter back. "Why stop me, father? Do you not see the heinous defilement of my temple?" Athena asked.

And Zeus answered her, "Patience, my child of a thousand tricks. It is not the destiny of those Amazons to die by your hands. The Fates had spun a higher task for them. Look there, by the wine-dark sea, sitting on a rock, Marpesia, the noble queen of the Themiscyrans, alone and despondent, helpless to stop the desecration carried out by her army. Go, my crafty child. Sway her, lead her to the island of Delos, where the ancient spirits of the Hysminai dwell. Those forgotten twin sisters (Envy and Malice), the Hysminai, born out of Eris (Strife) in the age of the Titans long in the past, together with the Makhai, their twin brothers (Courage and Honour). Bitterly they attacked each other after birth, but the sisters were defeated, and banished to the island of Delos. For many generations that followed, the Makhai ruled over mankind, the glorious Bronze Age, when wars won with honour and battles fought with courage. No more. The end is near. A new age of rancour and deceit is upon us, the reign of the Hysminai, so spun the Fates. Quickly, my beloved daughter, delay no longer. Go at once to that woeful Amazon, wallowing in her sorrows, lost in her way."

And down flown Athena, straight to the Piraeus where the forlorn queen sat, transfixed like a statue of a goddess, gazing blankly off into the barren sea. Her braided golden mane aglow under the high noon sun. Trails of warm tears streamed down her cheeks. From behind approached her baby sister Bithynia — that vivacious maiden warrior blossoming in her youth. She placed her caring hand gently on Marpesia's shoulder, and spoke with a voice sweet as honey, "O radiant queen, daughter of Lysippe, conqueror of Attica, my sister dearest to me above all, what troubles your soul? The war is won, it is a moment for joy. Yet off you sat, away from all the glory, wrenching your heart with sobs and groan. Come, move your nimble feet, sister! Let us return to the city, and join the dance like the carefree girls we once were."

Marpesia turned around, weeping still, and answered her, "Bia, my most precious little sister, dearest to me more than anyone else, three carefree girls we once were, but now we are only two. O Parithyia, my sister, and my guiding light, to where have you gone? For six summers we fought to avenge your honour. Here we stand triumphant, yet not word of your whereabouts. We freed Hekate, your faithful companion and mine. She fought alongside you on Delos, but no new light she shed. Remember years ago, big sister, how you saved us from that bristling wild boar, savagely charging us, its tusks gleaming. But you plunged your dagger into its heart, stopping the monstrous beast dead in its tracks. Wrapping your strong arms around us, you comforted us, Bia and I, frightened little girls we were. We need your strength again, sister. The alliance is breaking apart. My soldiers, drowned in greed and lust, showing no regard for the gods' wrath, in their mad rush to carve up the spoils of war. Not even the sacred temples were beyond their destruction, yet here I sit idly, powerless to stop any of this. Yes, I can feel it, mighty Zeus is brooding over us, poised to seal our doom. O Parithyia, now more than ever, my heavy heart aches for your warm embrace again..."

At those words, sweet Bithynia could no longer hold back her tears. With a loud cry, she cut short Marpesia's lament, and collapsed into her bosom, sobbing, trembling like a newborn chick. The sisters held each other tightly, consumed with grief. At last, Athena, the wily goddess, unseen by mortals, saw her moment and imbued that bold idea into the young Amazon. Bithynia lifted her face, with a sparkling gaze she ventured, "Sister, then let us sail to Delos, even at only a speckle of hope to find our dear Parithyia. The priestesses there may tell us something. If our sister is dead, no longer among the living, then back we'll go to our native land, raise her grave-mound, build her honours high with the full funeral rites that she deserves. Now, if we hear she's alive, then we will find her together, even facing the Hysminai we must."

Wide-eyed Marpesia, struck speechless by the mad suggestion, fell silent for a moment before answering her, "Bia, my baby sister, always quick to venture forth. You heard well as I did, from Hekate, the hell Parithyia raised on Delos and what they did to those priestesses, we would not be welcome there. The two of us, no, we are no match for the raging spirits of the Hysminai."

Unrelenting, bright-eyed Bithynia gripped her sister's hands and replied eagerly, "Then summon the leaders of our alliance, the best of our Amazon warriors, together there is strength in our number." But Marpesia shook her head and let out a soft groan, "The alliance is in tatters, Bia. The leaders, they are at each other's throat. Their hatred, surpassed only by their lust for the spoils of the war. They are beyond my command, beyond the command of anyone save the gods."

"I will convince them, sister," Bithynia, unwavering, replied with a stern voice, "Our allies, they all sworn an oath of allegiance to us before the war, and by the immortal Artemis, I will make sure they keep that oath!" On that note, she sprang up, her fists clenched with resolution.

"Bia, my dear sister, look at you — " Marpesia cupped her sister's face with both hands and burst out, "that glow in your eyes flaming like fire. And your voice thunderous; your words, steadfast and resolved, spoken like a true warrior. Surely a goddess must filled your spirit with nerve and courage. If it is the wish of a certain deathless one, then we must obey and set sail for Delos, for no mere mortal can deny the will of the divine."

At that, Bithynia let out a cry of exultation and leapt up with joy. Her eyes flashing bright, but the wary Queen of the Amazons cautioned her eager sister, "Get a grip of yourself, Bia. The road ahead is long and arduous. Come now, listen closely. Take to heart my words. First go to the Sinopeans, our Amazonian cousins encamped outside the southern gates of the city. Find Nikaia, their young chief, with a bitter heart she fought this war. Years ago, she challenged Parithyia for the queen's throne. When she lost, Parithyia spared her life and gained her alliance under oath. Refresh her memory of that oath if you must, but allude not to her defeat, for a warrioress does not like to be reminded of her humiliation. Then seek out in the heart of the city, Anaïtis, that dreaded piratess from Lesbos. We will need her ship to set sail for Delos. Do not provoke that hellcat, capricious in her temper, devilish in her ways. And turn a blind eye to her peculiar inclination, but by chance should you find her with Princess Semele, her Athenian lover, stay far away from that woman, because it is never wise to mix with a treacherous temptress. If the deathless goddess smiles upon you, summon them to our camp in three days time. Now go! And I shall return to rally our best Themiscryan sisters."

And off the elated Themiscryan lass went, speeding in her long swinging strides, fast as a Cimmerian arrow. Her honey-blonde hair, thrown back from her shoulders, glistened under the warm rays from the sun god Helios, now descending his golden chariot from the high arc, smiling down upon the sweet Bithynia, the fruit of his loin. Finally she reached the camp of her rival Amazonian clan, just outside the southern walls of the city. The Sinopeans warriors, in their thousands, all gathered on the open plain, encircling a large funeral pyre three hundred feet in length and breadth. Aloft it laid hundreds of bodies of their dead comrades, fallen during the final assault on Athens. And there in the middle stood the golden Nikaia, their warrioress chief, a dazzling lioness in her prime, tall and proud. Her soft white funeral robe flailed in the sultry summer wind, contouring that curvaceous body beneath.

With fire raging in her heart, she shouted in anguish her prayer, "Father Helios, Sun above us, you who sees all, hears all things! Immortal Artemis, ruling us all from Sinope, goddess of chastity! Witness here, the great deeds of these blissful souls. Thirty eight and five hundred of our fallen sisters, freed from the mortal veil, marching from this low earth to the glorious Elysian Fields, aflame with fury and righteous zeal. In this hollow war we Sinopeans wanted no part, bounded only by a solemn oath sworn long ago, they fought with all their honour and strength, coloured the stony walls and the sandy ground with their own blood, and the enemy's. They lost their lives before they lost the valour of their weary battling arms. In death, though they are vanquished, victory is theirs. Their mortal, melancholy fall, between the ramparts and the attacking horde, will bring them ever lasting fame in this world, and blessed glory in the next!"

Ending that blistering funeral oration, Nikaia cut a lock of her golden hair, threw it onto the platform, and lit the funeral pyre alight. Aeolus, the wind god, hurled down a gust of his strong West Wind, blasting the funeral fire up from below to shroud the high sky in pitch-dark smoke. The Sinopean army raised a triple war cry in unison, as final salute to their fallen sisters. The deafening roars shook the earth, like Poseidon, the god of earthquakes, struck the ground with his terrifying trident, sending tremors down the heart of every onlooker. Then three times they ran their ritual rounds about the burning pyre, circling the fire lit in mourning, lifting their wails of sorrow, tears wetting the earth. Amidst these loud cries of grief, that fiery Nikaia, her eyes ablaze, stormed out. Her floaty white robe flaming under the crimson glow of the setting sun. Like a goddess on fire, she cut through her swarming troops, trod down a path at the end of which stood the young Bithynia.

There Nikaia greeted her callow visitor with scorn, "Look! If it isn't the Themiscryan maiden, untouched as the snow atop Mount Olympus - her knowledge in the art of war; untried as a virgin lover in bed - her skill in the craft of combat; what wind blows you here, Bithynia, to the camp of the Sinopean Amazons? What dreaded words do you bring from your sister, that scourge whose war costed us dearly?" Bithynia stood firm, undaunted before the ruckus Sinopeans and their spiteful chief. Athena breathed in her strength and courage. "Nikaia, daughter of mighty Areto, high born as you are, that was a mean low greeting to your fellow kin! The Themiscryans would've fought the same war for you, had we switched our places. Here, I've come to ask for your assistance. The war is won, but still no word on Parithyia, your queen to whom you owe your allegiance. Marpesia summons you to our camp, in three days time we set sail for the island of Delos, to find answers —"

"Delos?" Nikaia broke her words sharply, her eyes afire, "Look around, Bithynia, my soldiers, mourning for their fallen kindred. Listen to their shattering cries. For six long years, they fought wearily your war, to win back the honour for your sister. Only now they begin to enjoy the spoils of their victory: gold, ruby, bronze piled high in their tents, with chained male slaves waiting at the back. How can they go on, fighting another war?" Her words drew a quick reply from the young Themiscryan, "Not a war, Nikaia, not on the island home to the Hysminai. Even the gods fear their wrath. No, leave your troops here in Athens, plundering to their heart's content. We travel light, our best warriors, without weapons and armour, lest the harrowing spirits turn us against one another."

But the Sinopean warrioress gave her a cold glance. "Why should I help you, even to lift a finger? More useless attempts at reclaiming that lost glory for your sister?" With poise Bithynia answered her, "A chance to put your fighting power in harness again, to win more fame and glory for years to come."

Nikaia smiled with her lips only, her forehead furrowed over her golden brows as her anguish rose, and she lashed out, "My fame already reached the sky when I slain Pelias, the sly Thessalian prince who bedded our greatest warrioress, Clymenê, that Taurian Amazon, mighty in her strength, weak in her sense. He took her easy heart and trampled her secret garden. And she repaid him by surrendering her entire army to the onslaught of his centaurs. That whore nearly costed us the war, yet your sister took pity on her, let her into your tent, soaking in her sorrow till this day. She lavished her with lion share of the spoils, while dispatching you here with idle talks of glory. Say no more of your hopeless words. Work out your own plans to Delos, but without Areto's daughter, for I have no mind to linger here disgraced, taking orders from a Themiscryan."

Her heart filled with rancour, Nikaia broke off, striding away, readying her soldiers for another round of plunder into the city. But the young Themiscryan fired her shot, "Who sits on the queen's throne, Nikaia? The throne you fought my sister for years ago. And it was Parithyia, my dear sister, who defeated you in single combat. Have you forgotten your screaming submission to her, or must I remind you the ensuing oath you swore, to serve her as your queen?" "Wretched girl, heed your tongue!" Nikaia turned about, her temper flared, "Artemis smiled on your sister the day she bested me. You will not be so lucky if you provoke me further."

Unfazed, Bithynia hurled back, "I am happy to oblige, if it is a fight you wish. Twice embarrassed you will be, in front of your kin — first for breaking your oath, and then for squealing your surrender once again, this time to me." These brazen words brought a menacing look from the golden lioness, as her eyes narrowed to slits. The heart inside her growled low with rage at the brash upstart across. The impudence of this lone cat, swaggering into her turf, flouting her authority. Hot for a fight, she shed her robe, laying bare her stunning figure, lean and robust, a fighter's body with every sinew fleshing out her martial prowess. There is no backing down for the young Themiscryan now. Eyes glowing wide, she rose up to meet the challenge with unflinching nerves. So these two feisty Amazons stood face to face, eyes locked, bristling for a showdown.

As they vied each other for openings, wading through the crowd was Oigme, Nikaia's old wet nurse. A formidable fighter herself back in the days, age had now blessed her with more wisdom than brawn. The prudent woman darted between them, pleaded with both fighters, "Stop. Please. Both of you, hot-headed young cats. Listen to Oigme, for in my time I struck up with better warriors than you, even you, but never once did they make light of me."

With that, she turned first to the golden lioness, "Nikaia, my child, since the day you were born, I nursed you, nestled you at my breast. Better than my own daughters I took care of you, and you always made me proud. That year, hitting the stride of your youth and aching for fame, you challenged Parithyia for the queen's throne. When you lost that fight, for three days you sobbed, and I cried with you. But like a true warrioress, you got back to your feet, leading your Sinope sisters into battle, fighting with valour, upholding your vows — until now. Why sully your name quarrelling with this youngster over a few ill chosen words? What glory can you gain if you defeat her, your ally and the sister of your queen, Marpesia? Listen to Oigme once more, for I have yet failed you in my advice — beat down that rage inside, and keep the sacred vow you sworn to Artemis. Go to Delos, seek out Parithyia, who dealt you that heart wrenching loss. If she is still alive, seeing the light of day, challenge her again to a match, to regain your glory. And if she's dead already, lost in the underworld, but it is still your heart's desire to settle the score, challenge her sisters in a fair fight, one on one."

Then turning on the brash Themiscryan she harangued, "And you, Lysippe's daughter, her third born, raw and reckless, ever so eager to make a name for yourself, to step out of your sisters' shadows. Your time will come, your moment to shine, for I've heard aplenty your martial skills. But take these advice from an old cat who's been around many great ones: a warrior's virtue and humility always outstrip her speed and strength. Your sisters, Parithyia and Marpesia, many battles I've fought along their side, never once, in their prudence, they showed disrespect to their allies. Learn your ways, or this dark world will swallow you up whole, for power without virtue will only bring you greater harm."

Bithynia hung closely to every word the wise old woman said. Across her, Nikaia clenched her teeth and bit back her anger, "Oigme, dear to me as a mother, how can I ever disregard your advice, always so full of wisdom. Themiscryan —" She turned to Bithynia, "You heard those words. I swear by the immortal Artemis, another day we shall have our fight, another day for your humiliation. But there will be no Oigme to save your backside, if you cannot check your reckless tongue on the island of Delos." Young Bithynia, her heart itching to fire back, but the goddess Athena reined her in. Now's not the time. She backed down and parted the Sinopeans camp, that lions den, coming within a hairs breadth of fighting the golden lioness herself. In her zealous heart Bithynia wondered, if she could have taken her down in a fight. At last it's high time, a new challenge awaited her, as the light was already sunk in the western shadows. Where in this war-torn city could she find Anaïtis, that dangerous piratess from Lesbos?