It was an exquisitely beautiful Winter-postcard scene, an orange early-morning sun reflected in the unstirring
waters of the lake. As it rose it poured a rosy glow over the walls of the castle sitting on the shoulder of a hill. A bored sentry paced monotonously back and forth along the ramparts, cursing his chillblains and occasionally breaking wind with a sound like distant thunder.
In the woods, something stirred. Two men, on horseback, emerged from among the snow-burdened fir trees, their breath hanging around their heads like smoke. Presently, the taller man spoke.
"Sod this for a life of adventure! I swear I'll never sleep in chainmail again!"
"We might have to," his companion said cheerfully. "These are dangerous parts..."
"If you'd kept your parts under proper control we'd have slept inside last night, in beds!" He shook his head irritably, snowflakes flying from his golden hair and beard.
"She was very persuasive...."
Sir Robert looked at his squire in exasperation.
"She was the baron's daughter, you cretin! That's another good billet you've rogered us out of!" He paused, then continued grumpily.
"And we've got no breakfast."
"We will have soon." He pointed to the castle. The knight looked at it, then at his squire, and sighed.
"You know, Kelvin, every time I convince myself that you've been imposed on me as a penance, you manage to surprise me. We'll try our luck there. Just keep your hands, and whatever else, to yourself this time. And stop smirking; you know my sense of humour sleeps late in Winter."
The sentry was still marching along the ramparts, grumbling to himself about the futility of his task. Who would try to storm this castle in Winter? Men fought in Spring and Summer, when the weather was suitable, and no none had seen a troll or a frost giant in years, except of course Loud Leofric after his tenth tankard.... A movement near the lakeshore caught his eye, and he stared for a moment or two, then ran to the guardhouse.
"Sergeant! Soldiers coming from the forest! Coming this way! What do we do now?"
Cursing, the sergeant struggled out of the kitchen wench's embrace and picked up his sword belt. His eyes followed the sentry's outflung arm. He looked for a second or two, then kicked the man's arse.
"What's this about?" a female voice said behind him. He turned to face the Lady Octavia.
"Two mounted men are approaching the castle, my lady. Their lack of siege equipment confused this fool" he indicated the sentry "and he raised the alarm."
"The gate's still closed," she said sweetly. "Should someone open it? for them"
The Sergeant looked at her.
"There are two of them, and one at least looks like a knight," she said, her voice caressing him like a cat seeking a favour. "Even if they're not friendly, I'm sure those hairy halfwits you call soldiers can deal with two frozen men."
Well-fed now, and warm in front of a roaring fire, Sir Robert began his story. The earl, his countess, his daughter and others of the household listened intently. Visitors were uncommon in Winter.
It wasn't all that long ago that we were in warmer parts, sitting on a hillside under a cypress tree, eating black olives, grapes and salty cheese, drinking wine that tasted of sunshine and pine resin, as Greek wine does. Below us, the sea was vivid blue with green streaks. In the distance, we heard a woman's voice, singing and slowly growing louder. It was a melancholy song, a song of love and loss and heartache. Presently she came into view.
She was tall for a woman, voluptuous and graceful, her golden hair showing a thread or two of silver to enhance her faded beauty. Curious, we approached her, and she told us her story.
Her name was Demeter, and she was a landscape gardener. She had a daughter, a woman of great beauty and charm, named Persephone, but someone called Hades had abducted her and dragged her down to the underworld, where she could never again see her mother or the world of light and warmth and laughter. A sad tale, and that might have been all it was, if Kelvin,ever impulsive, had not sworn that we would not rest until we had brought Persephone back to her.
A promise is a promise, and much as I would have preferred to take the risk of eventually dying at hom, in bed, surrounded by friends and kinfolk...
....We stood side by side on a dark and gloomy jetty in a huge cavern, waiting. I felt the coin in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. Silently, with barely a ripple, a beamy, low-waisted boat swung about and glided to the jetty. A man in a dark, hooded robe held out his hand, and we gave him the coins. "Thank you," he whispered in a voice of dust and ashes. "I am Charon, and this is Cerberus." An enormous dog appeared beside him and looked at us with red eyes. We gave him bread and he sat back to let us board the boat. The ferryman unfurled the lateen sail, and a sudden fetid gust filled it. We sailed deeper into the stygian gloom of the cave, which grew until we could no longer discern the walls or the roof.
After what seemed like an eternity, Charon spilled the wind from the sail and brought the boat alongside a crumbling wharf. We disembarked and walked past derelict-looking cranes and warehouses, carefully avoiding the noisome puddles.
"I wouldn't be caught dead here," said Kelvin. I reminded him that we were officially dead for the duration of our stay. We walked inland, past dilapidated houses und fields of hemlock and wormwood. The only thing that stirred was a mangy hyena, which laughed at us as we passed. Then, we heard music.
"Music?" said Kelvin. "Music in this place?" It was hard to believe, but there was definitely music, and it was coming from a Roman villa surrounded by fields of triffids.
I don't care much for triffids at any time, but if we wanted to find out what was going on here, we had to reach the house. We drew our swords and ran up the path to the door, slashing wildly at the stings reaching for our faces. To our relief, they couldn't reach the porch. We rang the cracked doorbell, and the heavy doors swung inwards, screeching on their dry hinges. A lean, cadaverous man in a blue-black mantle ushered us into the atrium. A woman, seated on a gilded stool, was playing a harp, her shimmering chords clutching at my heart. Tears pricked and stung my eyes, threatening to match those flowing down her cheeks.
"Men! Real, living, virile men, by all the gods!"
Startled, I looked towards the sensual, oh-so-feminine voice. A man stood there; at least I thought it was a man. He wore a heliotrope stola, golden sandals and more jewellery than a drug dealer's mistress. He looked at Kelvin, then at me, and desire blazed in his eyes. Feeling acutely uncomfortable, I spoke.
"Imagine meeting you here, Varius Antoninus," I said. "Rome hasn't been the same without you."
"Elagabalus Caesar to you!" he replied petulantly. "And don't talk to me about Rome! Latrina mundi is what Rome was! Romans! They killed Caracalla to make me emperor, and they killed me to make my halfwit
of a half-brother emperor! If I was a bad emperor, it was because they didn't deserve a good one. Turds, all of them, turds in a golden sewer!" He looked at us, slowly and sadly, and went on, "Real men, both of you, real men, with men's desires, wanting women, I suppose."
We both nodded. He waved a languid hand around him.
"Take your pick. That one over there, the lady with the harp. Eurydice, her name is. A snake bit her, and Orpheus was so heartbroken that he was allowed to come and retrieve her, provided he didn't look back. So the damned fool just had to look back and now he'll never charm her with his snake. The woman lecturing those girls by the impluvium, her name is Sappho..."
"The poet>" I interrupted.
"...Yes, a great poet. All the silly girls want to talk about is men and babies, and they've got no feel for words; they mumble and fumble and stumble and bumble.... and the man watching them is Zoticus. He was my lover - he's hung like the Colossus of Rhodes - but he's helplessly in love with Sappho and of course, dear, she's got no use for him..."
"Is nobody happy here then?" Kelvin asked, puzzled.
"Of course not," said Elagabalus, "This is the Underworld, dear. Bad people spend eternity here, while good people stay here long enough to learn humility before they go to Olympus or wherever." He paused, and looked around him.
" I'm going to my chamber, to sulk." His posture sagged a little, and despite his epicene prettiness, he looked thousands of years old as he walked away.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see whose it was. It belonged to a woman, an elegant, fine-featured, obviously intelligent woman with pale hair and sea-green eyes.
"Sappho?"
"What are you doing here? You don't belong."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You're not dead, silly. Neither of you. What are you doing here? You might as well tell me; I'm coming with you."
"Like Hell."
"I don't. You look clever. I'm sure you can help me to escape."
"It's too dangerous," Kelvin told her.
"It's men's work," I added, foolishly. Suddenly my arm was behind me, my handbetween my shoulders.
"I urge you to reconsider," sappho said sweetly. I reconsidered.
Somehow, miraculously, we'd found some turnips growing, and these went as well as could be expected with a small jackal spit-roasted over a wormwood fire. I've had better meals. Sappho asked me again why we were there, and I told her. If she was pleased, she concealed it well.
"Demeter! Promise or not, you'd better forget it now!"
"We can't do that," said Kelvin. "We gave our word, and we have to get her daughter out of Hades' clutches."
"You'll die trying!" she exclaimed. "Let her do her own interfering! Most men are fools; I'd hoped you'd be different!"
We argued for hours, in circles. Eventually, we slept.
Half asleep, I felt her snuggle up to my back, her nipples hard and her breathing awake. I rolled over and took her breasts gently in my hands She drew back.
"I'm sorry," I murmured.
"For what?" she asked.
"I forgot."
"Forgot what?"
"Your preference for girls."
She brought her knee up, catching me off guard. I rolled over and pretended to sleep.
Later, she whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry."
"Hmmm?"
"I don't prefer girls."
"But your poems?"
"I wrote love poems about men as well, but they were burnt. Damn Greek hypocrites! They could write love poems to boys, and act on them, but let a woman presume to write anything..."
In the morning, we walked steadily inland, into the hills, until we came to a castle black against the gloomy slate sky.
There was something not quite harmonious about its proportions. Its lines were somehow unpleasing. Hidden under the gorse bushes, we looked at the black waters of the moat.
"You'll have to take off your armour," said Sappho, "And even if you do, You still can't swim fast enough."
"What do you mean?"
She threw a dead buzzard into the moat. Large scaly things with lots of teeth tore it to shreds in seconds.
"^##@@#!" I said, with feeling. "Now what do we do?"
Kelvin nudged me. I looked around. He looked impossibly pleased with himself.
"What?"
He indicated a light rope in his hand. I looked along it, to a small boat floating under an ancient outhouse.
That night, we crossed the moat and studied the castle walls, looking for some well-hidden point of entry. Finally we found an iron grating, overlooked by whoever was responsible for shirking maintenance. It was held together mostly by habit, and disintegrated when I kicked it. I looked through the opening. There was what looked like a stone-flagged floor, a long way down, covered with bones and scraps of cloth. Halfway down, I saw a dozen cages, hanging on chains. In one of them skeletal figures moved feebly. The place stank. I shuddered and drew back. We kept searching, and eventually we found a place where the masonry had collapsed.
Inside the hole was a corridor, which we followed. A bat, a pipistrelle
I think, landed on my head and, clinging to my ear, went to sleep. Hearing voices, we stopped at a heavy velvet curtain. Through the moth holes we could see a tall, dark-haired, powerfully-built man sitting on a throne.
"Hades," Sappho whispered in my ear. The bat squeaked, pissed on my neck and flew away.
Hades was talking softly to a willowy, fair-haired woman kneeling beside him. She looke up at him, and the resemblance was unmissable.
"Persephone?"
"Who else?" Sappho whispered.
Persephone and Hades almost glowes
with the intensity of the love between them. There was a bond between them that was impossible to counterfeit, and I knew that we were on a fools' errand. Suddenly Hades looked straight towards us.
"Somebody's there." We said nothing.
"Sir Robert, Kelvin, Sappho! Come in and reveal yourselves now." We froze.
"Don't make me send my agent after you. You might have heard of him. Fellow called Torquemada..."
We pushed through the curtain and faced him. His handsome face showed anger. I felt cold and more that a littled afraid. This was not someone to take liberties with.
"This has the mark of my harpy of a mother in law!" he rasped.
"Mother-in-law?" Kelvin asked, shocked. "You two are married?"
"Of course we are!" Persephone snapped, her eyes incandescent with fury. Hades whispered something. She stoodup, brushed off his restraining hand and stood nose to nose with me.
"Why can't my mother accept my choice? I love Hades! Go back and tell her that if she ever..."
"Restraint, beloved," said Hades.
"Restraint be buggered!" she shouted. " I know you must respect the Pantheon, but I'm only half divine!" She turned back to me> "Mother wouldn't be satisfied unless I married Zeus. That horrible old pervert! No, Hades, it has to be said sooner or later! He Took the form of a swan to rape Leda, the form of a bull to rape Danae....Mother wanted me to marry that? not a chance!"
"Hades, Persephone," I said, "We have followed bad counsel, and we are sorry. We will leave you in peace."
And so we did. We stayed for dinner of course. Hades was proud of his new cook. Lucrezia Borgia, her name.
We stood on the crumbling wharf and watched the beamy, low-waisted boat come alongside. We gave Charon the gold coins, and fed the bread to Cerberus.
The Underworld was hidden by a bend in the cavern when a splash disturbed the silence of the voyage.
"Kelvin!" I shouted. "Don't say you can't swim!"
"Damn!" quoth Charon. "Hades will have my soul if I lose a living passenger." He put the helm hard over and the deck canted steeply. Kelvin and I rapped his knuckles so that he lost his grip on the steering oar, and then we helped him into the old, cold waters of the Styx.
"That was easy," I said smugly, and ducked just in time to see Cerberus fly over my head into the water with a yelp of disbelief. A good dog, loyal, brave, fatally stupid.
Sappho was waiting on the jetty.
Night had fallen, and the fire was burning low at the end of the story.
Sir Robert lay awake for a while, listening to the steady breathing of the sleeping household. Adventure was all very well, he reflected, but in a week or so he'd be home again, in Sappho's arms, and this was better than any adventure. He hoped Cerberus hadn't drowned. He didn't want Charon to be lonely.