He had been lying on a bed, in intense pain, coughing…
He fell into a swoon, dizzy, with a white haze outlining his vision as it faded to black…
Time passed, and he was not sure how long it had been.
But then the blindness and coldness around his eyes and the choking began.
He raised his hands–and something fell out of each of them–and tore away from his eyes and mouth…
Three coins.
With the spluttering of his breath in choking, he then spat out two more coins.
And as he sat up and looked at his bare sides, he saw another group of coins–nine on each side of him–that he assumed were the ones he dropped from his hands to clear his eyes and mouth of the other coins.
He picked up the coins and examined them, not knowing what else to do in that moment in the faint green light barely illuminating the darkness around him.
These were no coins he’d ever seen in his life. The faces of Hadrian, or Trajan, or even of Nerva were not on them. Some of them had flowers; some of them had lions; some of them had dogs. He did not see any legends on them, nor could he tell where they were from or how old they were.
And it was only then that he began to remember his name: Lucius.
He swore that in that moment, he heard the weeping of his mother Maria, and the cries of woe of the Emperor, and especially of his friend…whose name he could not conjure, but he saw his face clearly.
Lucius looked up and saw a face at once familiar and yet never before seen by him.
“Mercurius?”
“You know Greek–call me Hermes.”
“But is not Mercurius simply the Latin name for Hermes?”
“If you wish to give up more than half of your coins, I can call Mercurius for you. If you wish to only hand over one of them, then it will be Hermes, and I shall take it from you.”
Lucius was confused, but he handed over one of the coins with a dog on it to Hermes.
“My favorite! Well done, Vitalis!”
Vitalis…yes, that was part of his name, too. For some reason, he had forgotten it in that moment.
“Now, tell me: who are you and from what race are you?”
“I am…Lucius Vitalis, son of Lucius and Maria Malchis.”
“And…is that all?”
“I’m…from Rome.”
“And are you the CHILD of anyone or anything special?”
“Well, my father was a clerk…my mother was–”
“Never mind. This way, please.”
Suddenly, Lucius felt Hermes’ arm on his shoulder, leading him away from a certain road. They passed by a spring and a white cypress tree, and the smell of wine was in the air, which soon turned to the smell of curdled milk.
“Now, let me light this torch,” Hermes said, and without the sparking of flint the torch He held in the dim green light burst into a brilliant flame, with every color spiraling through it at such speeds Lucius’ eyes dazzled with the vision. Hermes waved the torch toward him, moving it from side to side, holding it close and then far from Lucius’ face.
“That’s…brilliant…”
“So, this means I’m the TORCHBEARER. Do you have anything to say to me?”
“That’s…really beautiful?”
“Do you want me to PUT IT OUT?”
“No, for this green glow is too dim for my eyes to clearly make out what is before me…”
“So, keep it lit is what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, of course…please.”
“Never mind, AGAIN. I thought you were supposed to be smart?”
Hermes then handed the torch to someone else, whom Lucius swore had perhaps three faces, or three bodies, who picked it up and sped away quickly, with the sound of hounds panting and padding quickly after whoever-it-had-been.
“So, Dionysos has not saved you, nor have you come under the protection of the Two Goddesses. Do I have that right?”
“I have made many a libation to Bacchus, the Liber Pater, at symposia for much of my life, and have carried the thyrsus in His processions for the Emperor. I have made offerings to Ceres and Libera at their temple on the Aventine several times each year since I have been in the Emperor’s service.”
“Yes; but, did you make offerings to the Two Goddesses at Eleusis and take Their Mysteries?”
“No, I was too sick to do so this year.”
“Then you will not be able to next year, or any other year. And what of Dionysus? Have you taken His Mysteries?”
“Is it not a mystery to have taken in the God and felt His blood mingle with one’s own in ecstasy?”
“A mystery, yes; a Mystery, no.”
Lucius’ smile at his own cleverness in his second answer immediately receded, and his brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry, Lucius, but there are rules I must follow. I had hoped better for you, but it seems that the Fates have not led you down the paths I had prayed, and instead Ananke will now take Her unshakeable hold of what lies ahead. Come with me.”
They made their way toward a river, where a crowd of people seemed to be gathered before a small pier.
“What river is this?” Lucius asked.
“It certainly is not your Tiber–every river of the earth has a counterpart here, with one exception, the Nile, which has its counterpart in the heavens; though in time, someone will suggest that the souls of the dead gather at the Tiber River as well.”
Lucius stopped, momentarily dumbstruck, and Hermes looked back at him.
“You mean…I’m…”
“Dead? Yes, you’re dead. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Lucius, I thought you might have figured it out.”
“I thought I…might just be dreaming.”
“There is no just when it comes to dreaming, my friend; your dreams have prepared you for this, but it seems not quite enough.”
“So, you are leading me to the Styx?”
“The Acheron…well, technically, yes, as the two rivers flow into one another, but this part is generally known as the Acheron. It takes something special to come to the Styx directly from the side of the mortals, and I’m afraid you don’t have that, either.”
“Where, then, are you taking me?”
“To the pier, where you’ll negotiate for your passage with Charon.”
“And what of all these others? How did they get here? How long have they been waiting unless you brought them hither?”
“You can’t see how I am leading each one of them even at this very moment. It’s a limitation of your mortal perceptions. Not all come here because of me, however. But those are mysteries with which you should not be concerned at the moment. Come.’
The two worked their way down the gently sloping landscape to the banks of the Acheron, and came to the pier amidst the crowds. For a second, Lucius thought he saw a thousand shapes of Hermes, just like the one he was following, standing next to each of the other people gathered there, as if They were as singular and solid as his own, and then he realized that in fact, it was only one Hermes who was moving so rapidly that He had been guiding and carrying on conversations with every one of the thousands at the same time He had been conversing with him.
“Soon, I will turn you over to Charon, with whom you will have to bargain for your passage. Most of those here have only come with one obol, but you have an advantage, in that you have twenty-two coins left. There is a reason for this–what, I am not entirely certain at present, but I have my own theories–but which coins you give him will depend much on what your eventual fate will become, so you must choose wisely. Let me see the coins.”
Lucius began to move his hands toward Hermes, but then paused with worry and suspicion.
“What is it?” Hermes asked.
“It’s just…I appreciate Your assistance greatly, but how do I know You won’t steal these from me if I place them in Your hands?”
Hermes smiled.
“You are as clever and as suspicious as I had hoped you would be! But let me assure you, this is unusual, and I do not mean to cheat you nor steal from you, at least at the moment.”
“I appreciate Your honesty in that, and will take it as a warning.”
“Clever boy! But now, I swear to you, by the Styx Which binds all oaths of the Gods, that I will not steal from your cache of coins, nor defraud you of them, nor trick you in any of what I advise from this moment until you are turned over to the Ferryman.”
Lucius paused for a moment more, moved his hands slightly, and then paused again, before releasing the tension he held in his shoulders and forewarns and extended his open hands to Hermes.
Hermes looked at each of the coins, turning them over in Lucius’ hands, and accomplished this with each of them in a matter of seconds, with the pleasant sound of the tinkling of metal against metal in profusion before he spoke again.
“Now, there are many interesting things about these coins, and each of the twenty-one is unique in some fashion. But there is one here that is beyond price. You need to examine it closely, and I will hold the others for you while you do.”
Lucius was beyond intrigued, and readily placed the other coins in Hermes’ hand while he looked at the coin that had been indicated. It appeared to be a bronze blank, at least on one side, but then he turned it over and saw a lion. He turned it over again and it had a lotus flower on it. He turned it again and saw the Greek Neilos. Again, and there was a temple. He turned it again and saw a star, and then a crescent moon, a bull, and what appeared to be Hermes or someone much like Him riding on a horse. He turned it again and saw a horse only, and then a spider, and a well-fitted ship, and then it appeared to be blank again.
“Do not, under any circumstances, give that coin to anyone. If I were you, I’d swallow it, but even then, you might be deprived of your flesh and your bones and it could still be taken. Hold it tightly and let it never leave your hands. These others are far less valuable, and can be given in whatever amount you feel is best to whomever you wish. Here they are.”
Lucius put out his right hand, and Hermes dropped the coins into his palm.
“Don’t you want to count them?” Hermes asked.
Lucius glanced down and quickly counted, seeing that all twenty-one were there.
“No need–I already have.”
Hermes smiled. “You are very clever, Lucius!”
Vitalis smirked. “Enough coin came through my hands in clerical training, I have developed a knack for it.”
“For that, and so many other reasons, it pains me that I cannot help you more, nor reveal what is to come for you clearly. You will have to make your own way, and while that is enviable for many, it is also fraught with difficulties. I will leave you now, but I will also say this: Charon is not as friendly toward your kind as I have been, and he will try to cheat you if he thinks it is possible. Do not trust him, nor reveal the extent of what you have. That is all I can do for you. Good luck, Lucius Marius Vitalis!”
Hermes was no longer at his side, but he could now see him at the sides of nearly everyone else there, giving them last minute advice, encouragement, and guidance before leaving them on the pier to face Charon alone.
The boat seemed small, and was filling up fast, but Lucius watched at least a hundred people climb aboard after their seemingly-too-easy transactions with the Ferryman. Most simply walked up to him, and his long bony arm stretched out to them and pulled the obols from their mouths, whereupon they clumsily boarded, unaided by the Ferryman’s hand, nor that of anyone else already aboard.
The black pits of Charon’s eyes focused upon Lucius when it was finally his turn.
“Your lips have been unburdened of their viaticum. You have spoken with Hermes. Do you wish to make the passage into Hades?”
“I do not know if Hades is my final destination.”
The dark abysses of Charon’s eyes narrowed as he paused for a moment.
“It’s true, you have the look of someone bound for elsewhere. That’s a higher fare. Twelve obols.”
“I will give you ten.”
“For ten, I’d knock you with this oar into the river and you’d never go anywhere. Twelve.”
“I will give you eleven.”
“For eleven, I will take you halfway across the river, and then knock you into it. Twelve.”
Lucius sighed, somewhere between exasperation and desperation.
“Very well, then. Your twelve obols, and not one more.”
Lucius expertly counted the coins out, one by one, from his right palm into Charon’s bony outstretched fingers like the gnarled roots of an ancient tree.
“Get on board. We’ll be taking all of these others first, and then we’ll get to you. Enjoy the ride.”
What passed for a smile that was the rampart of teeth like a row of shattered clay pots from Charon was given to Lucius, the blank voids of the Ferryman’s eyes staring, as Lucius boarded the boat amidst the crowd of shades-to-be in Hades.
The gathered passengers were silent, blankly gazing across the river toward their destination, insensate to all else around them, for the most part. Lucius was near a few who would occasionally glance around. One of them was a young woman–perhaps a few years older than him–who looked at him several times. Finally, she looked directly at him and smiled, and inched her way over to him, moving aside their catatonic colleagues in order to come closer to him.
“You are not like the others,” she said.
“Nor are you!” Lucius eagerly replied.
“Please tell me your name,” she asked.
“I am Lucius Marius Vitalis. Who are you?”
“My name is Chrysippa. What did you do in life?”
“I was learning the literate arts in service to the Emperor Hadrian. And you?”
“I was a whore in Corinth.”
“Oh,” Lucius said, not sure how to proceed.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of–I am not ashamed, nor should you be.”
“I…I suppose you’re right. We are dead now, and there is nothing which can harm us, I think.”
“If only that were correct! There is much here that can yet harm a naked soul.”
It was only then that Lucius realized and fully embraced that, besides the coins he held, he had absolutely nothing, and was completely naked, like everyone else accompanying them. He suddenly felt a bit of embarrassment, especially as he stole a glance at the young and beautiful form of Chrysippa, and began to be aroused by the sight. With his right hand full of coins and his left clutching the priceless and unusual coin, he did not feel that he could do anything to hide his arousal, and began to feel less self-conscious about it. Chrysippa looked down at his enlivened genitals and smiled.
“I had thought myself skillful during life at making men full of passion–and I see that death has done nothing to abate my talents!”
Lucius smiled. “I hope it does not offend you, but I’ve never…well, spoken with a woman of your profession before.”
“I’m a whore–‘profession’ has little to do with it. I was not able to do anything else, it was either this or be sold into slavery, or into slavery-in-all-but-name to some rough merchant captain who might not growl three words to me between taking me at his pleasure after beating me into a stupor in his drunkenness. But I don’t wish to revisit the past now. I’ve always wondered if the dead are able to copulate as the living. Would you like to find out?”
The smile on Lucius’ face gave way to a look–only subtly different from his grin–of stupefied horror.
“I…I never copulated with a woman before. I was told it did not befit my station nor my character while alive.”
“What about men?”
“Oh, men? Certainly…” Lucius seemed to relax slightly at his statement, and Chrysippa’s countenance shifted to greater seriousness.
“So, you were a devotee of Aphrodite Ourania then?”
“Well, perhaps not so much a devotee as a frequent votary in Her temples.”
“You know, Lucius, I serve Aphrodite as well. Some men even said I was Aphrodite in mortal form for them.”
Something in Lucius became more bold for that moment.
“And, if I were a God in mortal form, who might you say I would be?”
“Hmm,” Chrysippa thought for a moment and smiled. “Hermes.”
“Then, if we two were to lay together, would you give birth to Hermaphroditos?”
“If her penis were as nice as yours, and his breasts as fine as mine, then I should be a very proud mother!”
Chrysippa sank down to her knees, and Lucius followed suit.
“You didn’t have to do that just yet, Lucius.”
Lucius reddened–insofar as a shade can redden–for a moment, and he made to stand again. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Did none of your male friends ever used to perform fellatio on you?”
“The Romans never would; the Greeks, on the other hand…” Lucius thought of someone…his friend, whose name he could not remember, but whose face he knew like the back of his own hand.
“Well, no need to stand again. Let us lie next to one another for a while, Lucius.” Chrysippa reclined on the boat’s deck, and Lucius followed suit, moving closer to her. Those around them seemed to make way for them without any acknowledgement. They began to caress and kiss one another, embracing passionately, until their motions rocked the Ferryman’s boat in a way that it had never rocked before, and yet all the eyes of the shades were on the far shore and not the cavorting at their feet.
When the two finally relented and laid on their backs facing the dim green of the sky overhead, the boat had stopped, and the souls in it began to disembark. Soon, all but themselves, Charon, and two others had begun to crowd the far shores of the Acheron in Hades, and Lucius could hear over his own gasping for air the three-headed panting of a gigantic hound in the distance.
“Next stop, Elysium,” Charon spat in announcement.
“What of those two over there?” Lucius asked Chrysippa. One of the two remaining mortal souls glanced over to them and smiled–a young man–while the other, an older woman, looked darker even than Charon, and started ahead expressionless.
“I think the youth is bound for where I am; the woman might be headed to Tartaros, I expect.”
“And where are you going?”
“Elysium, from what I understand.”
“You mean to tell me that I’ve just had sex with a Heroine?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that; but I am bound for there all the same.”
“How did you come to that state?”
“What does it take to be a Hero, Lucius?”
“Great deeds and virtue in life?”
“Then what of the great sins in life of the likes of Herakles? Or of Tantalos?”
“And yet, Herakles was a Hero no less than a God.”
“Then, it must be something else that made Him thus.”
“Perhaps his part-divine heritage, then?”
“If every offspring of a mortal and a God became a Hero, then the demigods unknown to humans would not be obscure…and again, Tantalos would not suffer in Tartaros as he does, being a son of Zeus.”
“Then, I’m not sure what answer you seek from me.”
“You have heard of Palaimon in Corinth, Lucius?”
“Of course.”
“How came He to be a God and Hero?”
“Poseidon made Him thus at His death.”
“And how did He die?”
“He fell from a cliff and drowned because of His mother’s madness, instigated by Hera against the infant Dionysos.”
“So, would you say that His death was unusual?”
“No, for many have fallen and drowned in such a fashion.”
“And yet, it’s still not common, is it? Especially to have one’s falling and drowning as an infant come after boiling in a cauldron and being thrown by a Goddess-maddened mother in protection of another God.”
“No…I suppose you’re right. So what are you saying? You were no more than a child who drowned?”
“Silly boy! I’m saying that an unusual, and even a portentous, death might earn one the status of a Hero.”
“How did you die?”
“It’s hard to remember just now, but I think it went something like this: a rich Athenian had come to Corinth seeking my services. The whoremaster had a special bath prepared, which was warm but had paddles within it to churn the water up, and some Gaulish unguents added to the mix made it as if it was the foamy waves of the sea. The Athenian seated himself in the bath, and vowed to Poseidon he would cut the isthmus of Corinth for the glory of the Gods, and he called me forth from the waters as the Cyprian Goddess. I laid beneath the churning bath and then rose up from it, shells in my hair, to his excitement and delight. Then, I approached him, and submerged my head to perform fellatio on him. He held my head down in the water, and I did not stint in my performance. He eventually ejaculated, and after grasping my hair too hard in his fists, he let go, but by the time he did, I had swallowed not only his seed, but much of the water and had drowned in the bath.”
“So, you drowned as well?”
“Yes.”
“And for this, you became a Heroine?”
“Well, perhaps not a Heroine–I doubt that a heroön will be built over my body, if it is anywhere to be found now, nor will votaries come to honor the Great Courtesan Chrysippa for years after. Nonetheless, devotion to my work in the service of Aphrodite and the strangeness of my death may have earned me a place amongst the Heroes as worthy as any who was more virtuous or favored of the Gods in their life than I had been.”
“How interesting!” Lucius was honestly dumbfounded for a few moments, and wondered what–if anything–he might have done to have earned him a place in Elysium. As he was musing on this, the youth came up to them.
“I saw your enjoyment of each other before we reached the shores of Hades. My name is Thrasymachus.”
“I am Chrysippa, and this is Lucius Vitalis,” the Corinthian woman said.
“I find it strange that it seems I am bound for Elysium!”
“How did you come to be in such a state, Thrasymachus?” Lucius asked.
“I was a slave, and lived with my Master along the Ister. We were attacked by barbarians last night–Dacians, probably–and I defended my Master and his children in his house from one of the attackers. I was wounded, but managed to slay the brute, but not before he raised the alarm and summoned more of his marauders to him. We fled, and I put my Master and his two young children in a boat, covered it with a black tarp, and sent them across the river, myself swimming alongside the boat pushing it toward the far shore. Whether from loss of blood, the shock of the cold water, or sheer exhaustion in my toils, I did not make it to the other side, but the last sight before my eyes as I slipped under the waves into darkness was their boat approaching the other shore, and the tarp flying off as my Master began to paddle the remainder of the distance.”
“So, you drowned as well, but in self-sacrifice?” Lucius asked.
“Yes, I suppose so. And what of you?”
“I’ve just rehearsed the story, Thrasymachus,” Chrysippa said, “perhaps I’ll tell you another time, when we reach our destination.”
“Perhaps you can even tell me your tale as we play dogs-and-pigs, as you two just did?”
“Perhaps indeed!” Chrysippa smiled at Thrasymachus, who was quite beautiful, and beginning to become aroused as well. Lucius suddenly felt like a stubborn ass yoked behind the chargers of a biga.
The small craft nearly crashed hard onto the shores of Tartaros, and the dark woman, without a word, left the ship for who-knows-what tortures and despair beyond the merciless gates. The small boat careened off again, leaving only the three passengers and Charon the steersman. Chrysippa and Thrasymachus did not even give a glance toward the Tartarian shore, but Lucius looked at it in full terror, and stared for a moment before he resumed then conversation.
“Well, Chrysippa, before you move on to the next customer, I should probably settle my bill.”
Chrysippa was surprised, and smiled in embarrassment, but replied, “No, Lucius, it’s not like that.”
“No, you have done your work well in death as in life, and deserve your due.”
“But Lucius, I plied my trade in life to make a living, to afford food and to make it worth the whoremaster’s while to continue keeping me under his roof. Now, I have no such requirements, so I need no fee from you.”
“Do you truly think so, or are you simply having a jest at the expense of a guileless virgin to Venus’ ways?”
“What I say is true. Keep your coins, please.”
Lucius thought for a moment.
“No, it isn’t right. Something tells me that one of these should go to you.”
“Are you certain?”
“No, not by any means. However, I think this place is little different than that from which we have come, and justice in one is justice in the other. Take this.”
Lucius held out a coin, which had leaping dolphins depicted on it.
“The dolphins of Palaimon! Thank you, Lucius!” Chrysippa took the coin and simply stared at it and felt the weight of it in her hand for a moment.
“I’m afraid,” Thrasymachus said, “I have nothing with which to pay you.”
“I am not asking for payment from you, Thrasymachus. We’ll have to see how well you speak before I decide to share my favors with you, anyway.”
Thrasymachus seemed rather haughty for a slave as he replied, “And even if I had something to pay your fee?”
“Though I am knowledgeable in all arts of Aphrodite, I am not a whore for hire any longer, and I have a choice with whom I play this game. And now that such is my state, I feel no need to take any who approach me, no matter how handsome their faces nor ample their hounds.”
Lucius immediately felt better about what had occurred between them, and almost wanted to ask for his coin back, but did not want to deprive her of the joy of the dolphins of Palaimon that seemed to remind her of her homeland.
“Elysium approaching!” Charon shouted.
The boat approached the fine shining shores of the great fields of Elysium, and the smell of honey and ambrosia soon flooded their nostrils. The boat touched the shore–there was no pier stretching into the expanse of waters to meet them–and did so without any shock or shuddering, and the boat simply ceased moving upon the placid and mirror-like waters of the Styx, or the Acheron, or whatever river it had become by then.
Thrasymachus eagerly bounded out of the boat, since he had not touched much of dry land since before his death.
Chrysippa moved toward the shore slowly, and before disembarking, looked back at Lucius. She invited him closer, reached out her arms to him, grasped his face, kissed him sweetly on the cheek, and then released him and turned to step onto the shore with Thrasymachus. They looked at Lucius, and suddenly he felt entirely uncertain what was to come next, and if this was his destination.
Charon was no help, and did not offer a word of advice, instead only staring blankly at him, waiting for a response, a reaction, or a word from him.
Lucius tried to step out of the ship, but it was as if some invisible fetter kept him from moving any part of his body in a manner that would convey him out of the ship and to the shores of Elysium.
“You can’t go where you’re not wanted,” Charon said with a diabolical grin, before giving his oar a hard shove away from the soft shores of Elysium.
“No, stop!” Chrysippa exclaimed, and the boat immediately ceased, no matter how hard Charon tried to drive it onwards.
“You right heroic bastards!” Charon said.
“What does this mean?” Thrasymachus asked.
“I think…for whatever reason, we can make the boat go where we please, perhaps because we are Heroes,” Chrysippa replied.
“If you don’t let me go, I’ll bring the Furies in a moment. Not even Heroes can withstand them!”
“We’ll let you go–”
Chrysippa was interrupted by Thrasymachus.
“You mean you’ll let him go; I have nothing to do with this,” Thrasymachus said.
“Then fine!” Chrysippa shot Thrasymachus a glance that Lucius immediately understood–she would not be copulating with him anytime soon, if ever. “I will let you go once I know what the fate of Lucius will be.”
“Well, well, well,” Charon gloated. “The ‘fate of Lucius,’ is it?” The Ferryman began to laugh in a manner that made the bowels of all three mortal souls churn unpleasantly. “That will all depend on him and what he does now.”
Lucius’ no-longer-beating heart caught in his throat.
“What is it you want?”
“You’ve still got a handful of coins, boy. Give them to me, and we’ll see where they take you!”
“I…I don’t think I will.”
“If a coin doesn’t pass into my palm, it’s the Furies for you, and who knows what will be left of you to go anywhere when they’re done with you!”
“What if I give you one coin?”
“Then I’ll take you to the third stop after this one.”
“And what if I give you two coins?”
“The fourth.”
“And three?”
“The fifth.”
“And nine?”
“Lucius, don’t!” Chrysippa said.
“Then I’ll take you to the eleventh stop after this one.”
“And what is on each of these stops.”
“You’re not from Hibernia, you know nothing of those Mysteries or the maps they provide, and so I won’t tell you a thing about it.”
“Then I can give you up to eight coins,” Lucius said.
“No, you can give me nine–you’ve got eight in that hand, but one in the other.”
“This one I will not give up. The most you will get is eight.”
“No, nine,” Chrysippa said. “I will pay the difference,” and she held out the dolphin-stamped coin.
“I won’t take nothing from the wages of a whore, girl,” Charon snapped, “much less one that thinks she’s a Heroine!”
The look on Chrysippa’s face was devastated, and tears were welling up in her eyes. Even Thrasymachus began to look worried.
“Then…it’s only a question of how many I should give.”
“And you’d better hurry up and make up your mind, boy, as I can hear the wings of the Furies flapping even now!” Charon’s jagged teeth were on full display as his lips curled around them in the most crooked grin imaginable.
“Only give him one,” Chrysippa said.
“I say two,” Thrasymachus opined. “Six is a great many to retain yet, and with the other, that is seven.”
“If I give him only one, then that will leave me seven,” Lucius calculated aloud.
“Eight,” Thrasymachus said.
“That one isn’t negotiable.”
Lucius imagined he said those words, but the sounds actually came from Chrysippa’s throat, as she looked angrily at Thrasymachus. They’re really never going to have sex, Lucius thought, despite the gravity of the situation.
Lucius drew a coin from his right hand without examining the options. The imprint upon it looked like…a pile of ashes. It was no solace to him, nor any assistance to the task at hand, but he decided he would part with no more than that, and his chances were equally good with the third stop as with the tenth or eleventh since he had no idea what might be next.
“Here,” Lucius said, and placed the coin in Charon’s relentlessly greedy hand.
“Fine, then, boy. Get comfortable if you can, it’s a long way.”
The boat started to move away from the shore, and Chryssipa’s hand went to her lips.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you more, Lucius,” she said, holding back tears with her voice wavering.
“You can help me yet, Chrysippa.”
“How?”
“Pray for me, to all the Gods and Heroes you know–pray for me, and ask any of Them who might help me to do what they can.”
“I will, Lucius, I will!” Chrysippa extended her arm and waved to Lucius, even as she began to lose her composure and started weeping. Thrasymachus, even in his frustration, put one of his arms around her shoulder, and with his other he waved to Lucius as well.
“It won’t do you no good, boy,” Charon hissed, “the prayers of mortals and even Heroes to the Gods can do nothing when a soul is adrift on the Styx.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you think They swear by the Styx? Because it is unalterable, nothing can change it. Not a bad way to make an oath, then, if you want to make sure it stays true.”
Lucius was silent–what more was there to say to a creature such as Charon?
They came to the first stop: a bright island, and it seemed like a heavenly paradise. None were on the ship to disembark, and none came aboard either. Lucius swore that he saw the chariot of Achilleus, with Patroklos at the reins and Helen at his side, pass by the shore as he and the Ferryman moved away from it.
An unfathomable span of time passed until they came to the next island, which was as bright and beautiful as the previous, but the entire center of it was dominated by a gigantic figure, bearded and merry, with pine boughs (or was it entire pine trees?) crowning his head, hung with innumerable lamps. He seemed to be seated on a throne so distant that it was below the horizon, and yet it appeared that there were revelers amassed on the island from the foot of the giant to the very verges of the shore. They all focused on the titanic figure and undulated in dance and merriment, shouting “Io Saturnalia!” sporadically as an infectious music inundated Lucius’ ears.
“Too bad you’re not going there either,” Charon said, breaking the ages-long silence.
The boat drifted for a long time afterwards, through dense fog that made the waters around the vessel, and eventually even the majority of the vessel itself, obscure to Lucius’ mortal vision–broken only by the black abysses of Charon’s eyes which loomed like permanent fixtures in his place at the helm, looking at Lucius, and through and beyond him as well, all the while. It chilled Lucius to imagine what Charon saw in that moment, which lasted for such length that it could have been a year or twenty before anything else occurred.
The boat came to rest against a barren shore, the lights above it dark and tinged with a smoldering red.
“Here’s where I drop you off, boy,” Charon said, stopping the small boat, which had become the size of a craft only large enough to transport Lucius and the Ferryman.
“Well, then, I guess I had better go ashore. Thank you.”
“I don’t need your thanks, boy.”
Lucius hesitated a moment before he disembarked, and lingered for a moment looking back at Charon.
“There’s one more thing, boy.”
“What is it?”
“If you should decide in this moment to give me another of your coins, I can take you somewhere else–anywhere else, it’s your choice. Just for one coin.”
Lucius thought for a moment, wondering what assurance was there that the islands and shores after this one might be more pleasant. He pined at how pleasing the thought might be to return to Elysium and find Chrysippa, and to perhaps be with her for an eternity, until the Emperor had become a God and would perhaps have a place for him in his entourage once again…if, indeed, he ever did become divine. But he also realized that if he could not go ashore in Elysium before, there was no assurance that he would be able to now, even if he paid Charon to take him there again–passage anywhere did not guarantee entry anywhere.
“No, I think I will stay here. This is where I think I am meant to be.”
“You sure now, boy? It only takes one little coin…”
After a moment, Lucius sighed, and stepped ashore.
“Fine, then, boy. I won’t say fare well, for no one that goes hither fares well!” Charon cackled as the boat sped away.
Lucius was resigned to his fate–and suddenly terrified at it.
As he took a step, he noticed that his body was somehow changing.
Within his entrails, he could feel as if his organs became somehow different–his liver and kidneys became blood-stained ingots of iron, his lungs fleshy bags of silver, with a silver breath pumping in and out of them, his heart a single shining ruby, his bones copper and his skin golden with hair upon his head of white flax, his penis a fair brass member, and his eyes the brightest lapis lazuli. Every breath in his body felt richer and more enlivened than even at his greatest moments when upon the earth, and though he thought his surroundings dismal and his prospects were unknown, he felt that he had the body of an immortal, and that surely he would be rewarded for his toils and his long journey.
He walked a short distance, a musty smell of dust on every breeze, and at last came to a grand gate. The arch of the gate was made of pure amber, and the lintels were of bronze. There was a guardian before the gate, whose form shifted across many shapes–from human to animal, from plant to stone, from male to female, from bird to beast to fish. It was as if Proteus has come to oppose Lucius’ way, but he knew it could not be Proteus.
“You have come to Irkalla, the land below of no return. This is the gate of Nedu, and I am its guardian, Sekhet-hra-asht-aru, Multitudinous of Form.”
Lucius puzzled at this announcement.
“You are an Egyptian, and yet this is not an Egyptian afterworld…”
“That is a mystery which you are not permitted to know at present! In Irkalla, we have a custom, that everyone who comes here must pay a fee to pass the gate.”
“And how many gates are there in Irkalla?”
“I know of seven; there may be more.”
Lucius breathed a sigh of relief.
“Then I can pay you what you have asked!”
Without a thought, he handed over the first coin to come to his grasp from his right hand. As he passed it to the sentinel of the first gate, Lucius only saw what was on it for a moment: the legend nous.
“Very well, I will accept this token of your passage. You may proceed.”
The gate opened, and Lucius walked through the gate.
As he did so, suddenly he felt strange, as if sense and composure had departed him, and he saw the single ruby of his heart burst forth from his chest, to be left in a heap of such hearts lying next to the bronze lintel inside the gate. There was no blood upon his hands nor his chest, however, and though it had been surprising, and now he felt a hollowness and a sadness and the names of people and places began to fade from his mind, he could do nothing other than to pass on to the next gate.
He reached a second gate, its archway the finest and most fragrant acacia wood, and its lintels made of pure ivory. The gatekeeper before it looked like an Egyptian physician, bald-headed and wearing a fine linen kilt, and in his hand he held a small scythe. If Lucius had not given up his nous, he would have thought the gatekeeper looked like Imouthes, but the thought did not cross his mind now, for he had no mind which it could cross.
“You have come to Irkalla, the land below of no return. This is the gate of Enkishar, and I am its guardian, Un-hat, One Who Opens the Breast. In Irkalla, we have a custom, that everyone who comes here must pay a fee to pass the gate.”
Without a thought, Lucius produced the next coin, and as he handed it over, he saw the legend upon it, thymos on one side, and phrenes on the other. Un-hat let him pass beneath and through the gate, and as he did so Un-hat slashed at his chest, and from it his silver lungs were drawn out and tossed onto a pile of lungs behind the gate. Lucius felt a thousand pins and needles in every limb of his body and a dizziness, and yet he knew there was breath still circulating within him, but it simply had no place to go, nor did it have a way to escape his body, nor could more of it come into him.
He reached the third gate, this one with an arch of granite and lintels of black marble striated with purple. An atrocious aroma, palpable even to Lucius without an ability to breathe any longer, penetrated his nostrils as he looked upon the guardian of this gate, who had a bestial face like that of a dunghill dog, his body bent and caked with excrement.
“You have come to Irkalla, the land below of no return. This is the gate of Endashurimma, and I am its guardian, Kek-hauau-ent-pehu, Eater of Shit. In Irkalla, we have a custom, that everyone who comes here must pay a fee to pass the gate.”
Without a moment’s pause, Lucius produced the next coin from his hand, and gave it to the gatekeeper. His lapis lazuli eyes could see that there was a legend upon one of its sides, menos, and on the other was cholos. The gatekeeper stood aside and began to lick his own limbs, removing some of the caked-on excrement as it did so.
As Lucius passed through the gate, he felt a stirring in his entrails that burned in pain. He suddenly felt a flux within him, and in doing so he was doubled over in pain, and from his anus his liver and two kidneys of iron caked with blood were extruded, falling into a pile of similar organs behind the gate. It was as if all desire to resist and to fight had left him, and in its place only despair and regisnation remained.
He came to the fourth gate, which had an archway of obsidian and lintels of tightly-packed thick-wooded vines bereft of grapes or leaves. The gatekeeper was a musician dressed in a diaphanous gown who strummed a lyre with one hand and shook a sistrum with another, and with her two other hands she beat upon a drum and a cymbal. When she spoke, it was as if her voice was a thousand voices coming from every direction, of many tenors and tones, speaking in unison and in disharmony simultaneously.
“You have come to Irkalla, the land below of no return. This is the gate of Enuralla, and I am its guardian, Khesef-hra-asht-kheru, Multitudinous of Voice. In Irkalla, we have a custom, that everyone who comes here must pay a fee to pass the gate.”
And with little thought or reservation, Lucius gave the next of his remaining coins for passage through the gate. As it passed from his hand and he saw the legend upon it, aion, the youth and vigor he once had in his life cut short at such a young age came back to his thoughts, and then faded as the coin was accepted into the hands of Khesef-hra-asht-kheru. He went forward through the gate, looking down at what remained of his immortal form and being pleased with it for a moment, and then he heard a loud “CLANK!” behind him and turned to see a most strange assemblage of organs piled up behind the gate. He looked down with his eyes of lapis lazuli once again, and saw that the fine brass rod of his penis was now gone, and from the wound where it once was his thick blood the color of honey slowly seeped out of him without pain or discomfort, other than that which dawned on his few senses left signifying that nothing could cease the tide of time and the passing of youth into age, and suddenly his few years upon the earth felt as if they had been centuries, and he bore their weight in all of his limbs poorly with every step that he then took.
He came to the fifth gate, which had an arch of smoldering papyrus reeds and lintels made of tens of thousands of rusted broken iron chain links. The face of the gatekeeper was beastly, not like any animal Lucius had seen in life with his own eyes nor read of in any book, and on the ground all about the gate swarmed and writhed a hundred thousand worms, maggots, and other tiny legless vermin, whose manifold reflections flashed across the bulbous segmented eyes of the gate guardian as it licked its lips with its strange tongue and patted its bloated belly in contentment.
“You have come to Irkalla, the land below of no return. This is the gate of Nerubanda, and I am its guardian, Ankh-ef-em-fent, One Who Lives on Worms. In Irkalla, we have a custom, that everyone who comes here must pay a fee to pass the gate.”
There was no resistance left in Lucius, and he handed over the coin to Ankh-ef-em-fent, which had the legend pneuma upon the obverse of it, and kér on the reverse. As he passed through the gate, the breath stirring with no outlet nor inlet within him departed through his mouth in a spray of silver, and as the last of it trailed out of his lips, it brought his tongue and his throat with it, left in a quivering pile behind the gate with the cloud of hazy silver breath lingering above it. He could not breathe any longer, and now he would not be able to speak either, if he had chosen to do so…and for the briefest of moments, he wondered why he had not asked any further questions of these gate guardians since the first, but since his nous was no longer with him, the wonderment was not with him for long either. He knew there was no other fate for him than to go forward.
Lucius came to the sixth gate, and saw before him a gate with no archway other than a thickness of air and cloud, and its lintels were made of the stalks of a hundred thousand wheat sheaves without corn. The guardian of the gate was skeletal, with only the thinnest film of translucent skin upon its form, and with a hungry and desperate look in its hollow eyes.
“You have come to Irkalla, the land below of no return. This is the gate of Endushuba, and I am its guardian, Atek-au-kehak-kheru, Seizer of Bread. In Irkalla, we have a custom, that everyone who comes here must pay a fee to pass the gate.”
Something unexpected in Lucius caused him to hesitate at that moment before handing over the penultimate coin from his right hand to the gatekeeper, but he did soon fulfill the request, and gave the coin into Atek-au-kehak-kheru’s greedy hand, which he saw had the legend sarx upon it. As he walked slowly through the gate, he felt all hope and anticipation pass from him, and when the last drop of it was gone, as if Pandora’s pithos was at last emptied of its deepest dregs, the golden skin flayed from his body and his copper bones seized, the skin being laid like a stack of linens at one side of the gate and the bones being strewn into an immense pile on the other. What remained of him he could barely see or understand–a shadow of his human form, featureless, the shape of his own shadow but with no shadow of its own, with only his eyes of lapis lazuli remaining as he proceeded onward, on a walk that was treacherous and endless, to the final gate.
He at last came to the seventh gate of Irkalla, which had no arch, and was little more than a low rock wall stretching infinitely in both directions, and only the smallest and most rustic upright stones of common composition breaking the endless expanse of wall with a narrow, unimpeded opening, and the gatekeeper standing in front of and completely blocking its tiny passage. If his menos had still been with him, he might have considered leaping the low wall rather than dealing with the guardian of the gate, who was a tall, thin, black figure with spindly limbs and a long neck, completely shrouded in black wrappings so that only the dim yellow slits of its two eyes stared at Lucius, with a black-hilted, black-bladed saber of sharpened obsidian in its right hand.
“You have come to Irkalla, the land below of no return. This is the gate of Ennugigi, and I am its guardian, Sekhem-matenu-sen, One Who Prevails Over Knives. In Irkalla, we have a custom, that everyone who comes here must pay a fee to pass the gate.”
What was there left to give? In his right hand, Lucius had the last of his coins allotted for this journey, and in his left, the strange coin beyond price or estimation, which he had not given to anyone and would never give for even another chance at regaining all of his lost parts. In a moment of confusion, he almost met the left hand of Sekhem-matenu-sen with his own left hand’s contents, but with a final flash of his lapis lazuli eyes, he saw that was a mistake, and instead held out his right hand to the guardian’s left. The coin passed between them, and Sekhem-matenu-sen held it up in front of Lucius so that he could see the legend upon it: psyche.
In a flash, Sekhem-matenu-sen sliced through the insubstantial flesh of the shadow form of Lucius, and in a moment of white-hot pain, all sense and sentience seem to fall away from Lucius, and he could no longer see clearly, as if all things had a black veil enshrouding them in his field of vision–which was no longer vision, for his lapis lazuli eyes had been taken from him, and now were in an extensive heap next to the gate. The gatekeeper stood aside, and the shade of Lucius passed on.
It was suddenly as if an irresistible voice sounded itself in his ears, and a rush of wind passed by him, but he could neither see who might have made it clearly nor feel its passing distinctly.
The voice said to him, “Remember what I said of the coin.”
With nothing left of him, his organs and his senses and every bit of his flesh, blood, and bones gone from him, Lucius took the coin from his tightly-grasped left fist and put it where his mouth used to be, and somehow swallowed it within himself. With the blank hollows of his eyes, he could see through his own shadowed flesh that the coin was blank but spinning within his shadow entrails, eventually showing a legend: a single Greek capital Alpha. He remembered that this was an important letter in the name of someone…one of his friends, the Emperor, a God? He wasn’t sure, and plodded onwards.
Through crowds of shades such as himself, dining endlessly without satisfaction on plates and from cups filled with dust, Lucius’ shade eventually came into a palace carved of the paired horns of a single giant bull. He walked through endless passages in the place to the eventual presence of its sovereigns upon their indomitable thrones: Nergal, the king of Irkalla, and his august and fearsome wife, the Queen Ereshkigal.
The God-King Nergal, from His throne and within His mantle of the unconquerable lion, said “You do not belong in this place.”
The Goddess-Queen Ereshkigal, from Her throne and within Her mantle of a dragon’s skin, said “You are not one of ours.”
The King and Queen called Namtar to them, and bade him do as they instructed.
“Take this one from our presence, and place him upon a flesh-hook in the darkest place of our palace. Send against him seventy diseases, to punish him for his intrusion. Send him eye-diseases against his eyes, diseases of the skin and bones against his skin and bones, foot and hand and limb diseases for his feet and hands and limbs, genital diseases against his genitals, entrails diseases against his entrails, lung diseases against his lungs, and heart-diseases against his heart, and against his whole being and his entire body diseases upon diseases for his intrusion into our presence.”
What happened then was no longer sensible to Lucius Marius Vitalis–if, indeed, that was his name any longer–and he was taken by Namtar and escorted to the deepest pits within the dungeons of the palace, and chains were placed about his every limb, and a great metal hook was impaled through his head and his torso, and he was hung up. Before his senses departed entirely and faded into the unimaginable pains that followed, Lucius saw the coin within him spinning still, the A upon it the only thing yet remaining within him that was distinct and unchanging.
What came next was an interminable waiting, for all that was left of Lucius was the unfathomable expanse and endless reaches of Chronos, as it had been from the beginning according to Orpheus, Who only mingled with Ananke to create the world. As Hermes had said, Ananke had Her way with Lucius now…
And yet…
Since only Chronos was left to him–and that was, indeed, something–the mingling of Ananke and Chronos like two entwined serpents caused a strange stirring within him, as if a new world and a new cosmos was being formed from the fragmented shadows and barren ashes of the one before.
At some point–it could have been years, it could have been millennia–the coin within him stopped spinning, and the constant hum and buzz of its movement’s cessation prompted what little of Lucius’ sense remained in him to snap into focus.
He felt a hand–gentle but mighty beyond imagining–penetrate into his shade’s entrails, and take up the coin.
“If you have a word or a name, speak it now.”
“Hail and praise to you, Antinous, who have freed me from my bondage! I give you my felicity with learning, that your knowledge may increase even after your death and deification.”
Lucius’ response had come from–where? He had no breath to speak, no tongue to form words, and no nous with which to conceive them. And yet, in that moment, he was flooded with warmth and light, and could see a face that he had never forgotten, clearer and brighter now that he had formed the words and sounds of the name of the One Who bore that grace-filled face with his shade’s lips, feeble and decrepit though they had become in Irkalla.
As the warmth and light increased, and the darkness and reddish tinge of his surroundings dimmed around him, Lucius heard words from his friend.
“I am Antinous, who goes where he pleases, and before whom the gates of the underworld tremble. Loose your door-bolts to me and give me praises, for I have come for the liberation of many, and Lucius Marius Vitalis shall be the first of those so liberated, a prince amongst the Sancti who shall congregate upon the Boat of Millions of Years. I have the toll for the eighth gate, Endukuga, and I will pass through it with my friend unimpeded.”
It was as if Lucius had been in a reverie, unpleasant and unending though it had seemed, that now gave way to a boundless joy even before he had the organs to perceive such an emotion.
The two of them moved with a speed beyond comprehension, and soon Lucius began to see his friend’s form more clearly as his lapis lazuli eyes returned; he could feel his feet move swiftly as his copper bones were restored and his golden skin covered him again; his voice and his tongue and his throat returned and the silvery shimmer of the air for his breath filled his body; the rush of his blood and the zeal and zest of his youth and the firmness of his brazen penis came back to him; his iron liver and ferrous kidneys and all the solid organs of his entrails were returned to their places and his courage and virtue and ardor flowed freely; his silver lungs were replaced in his chest and circulated his breath from within him to the exterior world and back again in turn; and at last his full sense of himself and of what had happened came back to him when the finely carved and intricately shaped ruby of his heart was placed inside of his body.
The two flew through the air above lands and rivers uncharted until they came by the side of a pool running with cool water.
“Drink, Lucius.”
Lucius drank the cold clear liquid from the cupped hands of his friend, and all memory of his life, and his death, and of all of his travails and tests returned to him with perfect clarity and full detail, in all of its joy and horror, but the horror receded easily before the joy that he now experienced.
“What water is this, Antinous?”
“It is the waters from the well of Mnemosyne.”
“Then, would it be permitted for me to bathe in them?”
Antinous smiled. “I don’t see why not!”
Lucius threw himself eagerly into the water, and all of the dust from his travels and the dirt of his troubles washed away from him as surely as he had been cleansed by the immersion of a priest of Kotys.
He suddenly felt a warmth around him, and from the depths of the well a phoenix erupted with outspread wings in fiery flight and sped away to destinations unknown.
He emerged from the water, and found that his body and his limbs were no longer the fine, fast, and firm metals he had upon the land of Irkalla, but his own familiar flesh, though it felt as if he had feasted upon the foods of ambrosia and honey endlessly since his death. He was revived and rejuvenated, and he had Antinous to thank for it.
“I have…so many questions, Antinous. How is this possible? What brought you hence with such power and abilities? And of all those you could save, why save me first?”
“Because if Herakles had one prayer that could have been answered, it would have been for his Hylas to be brought back to Him. I may not be Herakles, nor you the Thracian boy, but for the moment, this is my wish.”
“But what of our Emperor?”
“He does not need me to make him divine–he will come to his due in time. We have much work to do. But first, you must meet your wife.”
“My wife? Have you met Chrysippa, then?”
“Who is Chrysippa?”
Lucius laughed for a moment. “Perhaps I’ll tell you the story in time. But for now, tell me what you mean.”
“Your wife will be Makaria.”
“Makaria the…Goddess?”
“The very same.”
“But, surely, she is already married?!?”
“To hundreds and thousands of people of every gender, still nonetheless, she will be your bride as well.”
“How is this?”
“Herakles already is married to Hebe, so she will not be your bride. Makaria seemed the next best possibility.”
“And what of yourself? To whom are you married, or will we share this bride between us as we shared so many things?” Lucius put his hand on Antinous shoulder and gave him a look he had not given him since before he had died, and before he had become ill on their journey in Athens.
“My wife is Melinoë, the daughter of Persephone and Hades.”
“Oh! And what of the Emperor?”
“His wife is Sabina.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“I know, my friend! There is nothing which says that in death, as in life, he may not be married to Sabina but have me as his erastes.”
“Don’t you mean eromenos?”
“The Emperor will one day be a Divus; but I am both a Heros and a Theos. Many will be my eromenoi, many mortals among them. He shall always have a special and spacious place in my own heart, but my heart is wide and full of mansions beyond number. Look, here comes your bride!”
Lucius looked at the figure approaching them, and recognized…Chrysippa!
“Lucius, this is Makaria.”
“Makaria…but I thought you were called Chrysippa!”
“If you like, you may call me Chrysippa–but honestly, do you think even the greatest Heroine from mortal stock could command Charon, or could bring the pleasures of sex into his grim boat?”
She began to laugh with an infectious laughter, which Antinous soon began to join in, and eventually Lucius joined as well. The picture became clearer now to Antinous. I must remember to thank Hermes later for this favor.
