Episode 72Y – King of Ithaca – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 72Y Show Notes

Source: Greek Mythology

This week on MYTH, we’ll finally reach the long-awaited conclusion to our epic journey. You’ll discover that Odysseus doesn’t trust anybody, that Penelope is a good match for her returned husband, and that there’s always time for just a little more brutal violence. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll learn the mythological origins of the Ghost of Sparta. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 72Y, “King of Ithaca”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
When we left the story last time, we’d picked up just after the end of the Trojan War. Odysseus spent nearly ten years sailing around the mythical world getting into shenanigans and getting every last one of his men killed along the way. He’d dallied with the witch Circe for a year and with the nymph Calypso for 7 years before finally washing up on the island of the Phaeacians and meeting the princess Nausicaa. Her father had helped Odysseus out with a ride on one of their magical ships, depositing him back on the shores of Ithaca once more at long last. Of course, as we’ve seen, things have gone to shit while the king has been away, and Odysseus’ son Telemachus has been on his own mini odyssey in search of news of his father. Athena has helped him come up with a lot of great stories but not much in the way of concrete information, so he decides to head back home. Unbeknownst to him, the suitors who have invaded the palace to try and marry Odysseus’ wife Penelope and take his throne have laid an ambush for the young prince, intent on murdering him and removing one of the last remaining obstacles. Odysseus finally made it home and Athena revealed herself before using god magic to disguise the returning hero as an old beggar. Telemachus returned and met his long lost father, who finally revealed his true identity. Separately, they both went back to the palace where Odysseus endured a lot of repetitive abuse from the suitors, cementing their fate. His old nurse recognized his secret scar and was threatened into silence. Penelope decided she was done with this shit. She proposed an archery contest using Odysseus’ old bow (originally from the god Apollo), with the winner being the man she will marry. One by one, the suitors fail the test, and the disguised Odysseus surprises everyone by winning the challenge. For an encore, he began to murder all of the suitors (with help from Telemachus, Eumaeus, a friendly cowherd, and of course Athena). They take some minor injuries, but are the last men standing as the corpses of the suitors cool on the dirt floor of the hall.
Nothing stirred in the hall. The small army of suitors who, just hours before, had thought they were about to win the kingdom lay dead and disemboweled on the floor. Once Odysseus was satisfied that the fight was over, he called to his son. “Telemachus, go call my old nurse. I need to talk to her.” The younger man ran to do so, calling for Eurycleia who had locked herself up for safety per the king’s instructions. He told the probably terrified serving woman that the bloodbath was over and that Odysseus wanted to see her.
Since old Eurycleia was one of the only people on the island who had any idea that Odysseus was back, she hastened to obey the summons. The prince led her down the stairs back to the main hall to find Odysseus standing amongst the butchered corpses of his fallen foes, their viscera splattered across the walls, tables, and floors. The victorious king was likewise drenched in gore, only some of it his own. She raised her head to let out a victorious cry, but Odysseus sensed her intent and silenced her. “Rejoice in your heart, old friend. It’s disrespectful and unholy to glory over the bodies of the slain. These men brought down their own dooms upon their heads, struck down by the gods they defied. They were selfish, cruel, and vain and they squandered away their days and the wealth of this island. They deserved their shameful fate, but we will not cheer over their corpses. Eurycleia, I have a request. You told me that you knew which serving women were loyal and which were treacherous. I need you to report to me so that I can clean house.”
She told him that, of the 50 serving women (mostly slaves) in his house, about a dozen had gone to the beds of the suitors to try to curry the favor of those powerful men. She then asked permission to climb up to the queen’s room to tell her the glorious news of the king’s return (where she still slept a clearly enchanted slumber). “Not just yet. Send those dozen traitors to me first. We have business.” Eurycleia rushed off to obey her king.
While she was busy, Odysseus set Telemachus and the two herdsmen to clearing away the bodies. Once the dozen so-called traitors came into the hall on Eurycleia’s order, they too were put to work cleaning the carnage. Bear in mind, these women were literally wading through the blood and guts of men that they had slept with the night before. Regardless of how they had felt about these men, they had submitted to their lust to try and find some small measure of protection in the increasingly tumultuous world of a kingless island. As they stumbled out into the charnel house, they wept and wailed in anguish. They could see that only twelve of them had been brought down for this grisly task, and they could see the writing on the wall. When the suitors had died, these women had died too – it was just going to take a little bit longer to set in.
Odysseus shouted orders and commands at the slaves as they carried the severed limbs and eviscerated corpses out of the hall, then scrubbed the tables and chairs. The earthen floor was scraped clean with spades and the bloody mud dumped outside. Once the stains and scars had been as cleaned up as they could be, the twelve women were marched out of the hall and into a dead end against the stockade fence. Telemachus relayed the order he had been given by his father, Odysseus the king and returning hero – death. And not a clean death nor an honorable one, but slow and painful and ugly. Telemachus reveled in it. These women, who he called sluts and whores for the suitors, had abused and insulted him, their prince and that was an insult that had to be paid back with blood. A stout line was strung from a column, with a dozen nooses dangling from it. One by one, the women’s heads were forced into the ropes and they were dragged kicking and gurgling into the air to die a slow, agonizing, painful, pitiful death, kicking their heels and fighting ineffectually for air they would never get. One by one, they stopped kicking.
Once they were done for, the cruel goatherd Melanthius was frog marched into the court. He’d just listened to the sound of his sister and her friends being executed and he knew good and well that it was his turn. With a sharp knife, they cut off Melathius’ nose and then his ears. Then, they tore off his dick and balls and fed them to the palace dogs while he watched. Once his manhood had been devoured, they hacked off the goatherd’s hands and feet and left him to die of his many terrible wounds. It was a particularly grisly death.
The enemies of the king dealt with, Telemachus and his men washed their hands and feet of the blood of the slain and went to rejoin Odysseus. The king was sending Eurycleia to scour the hall with sulfur and to start a fire to smoke out the bad vibes. The traitors had been dealt with, so now it was time to bring in the loyal serving women and their mistress, Queen Penelope.
Or almost time. Eurycleia pointed out that Odysseus was still dressed in the filthy rags of a beggar. He should really be dressed in his royal finery to remove any doubts about who he really was. Odysseus agreed, but wanted the purifying fire built first, so the fire was built and the room was cleansed. Only then was Eurycleia free to go tell the other women the good news. They rushed downstairs to witness this miracle, crowding around their returned king to hug him and kiss him and weep over his hands.
Eurycleia continued her journey up to the rooms at the top where Penelope still slept. She woke the queen gently to tell her all that had transpired – Odysseus had returned and slain the suitors one and all. Penelope of course doesn’t believe a word of it. It’s been too long and her hopes have been dashed too many times. She tells the old nurse that some god must have driven her mad for funsies to make her believe such nonsense. Or perhaps the old woman is mocking the grieving queen for some reason, telling wild stories, waking her from the first refreshing sleep she’s had in years.
Eurycleia insists that she’s neither mad nor cruel. It’s true: Odysseus was the old beggar who’s been hanging around the palace, disguised to reconnoiter the situation with the help of Telemachus, who had been in on the ruse. Despite her misgivings, hope began to swell in her chest once more and Penelope leapt from her bed, demanding to know what exactly had happened with the suitors. None of the women were present to see the battle of course, but they heard the awful screams and the moans of the dying and she saw Odysseus standing amongst the corpses of his fallen enemies.
Still Penelope is not convinced. She believes that Eurycleia is telling the truth as far as she knows, but that doesn’t mean that some god or wicked spirit isn’t playing a trick on them. It was entirely possible that some supernatural entity was wearing an Odysseus mask for some obscure purpose or just plain cruelty, or perhaps finally bringing divine vengeance on the suitors for their many, many crimes. Eurycleia chides her queen for delaying with silly nonsense when her long-dreamed of husband is actually home again and waiting for her. She saw his scar herself – she’s sure it’s the king!
Penelope still doesn’t believe, but she agrees to go downstairs and take a look just the same. Her heart roiled with indecision as always – should she keep her distance or probe the man claiming to be her husband or just accept her apparent good fortune? She opted for cool reserve, slipping into the hall and seating herself near the fire by the closest wall. He leaned against a column in the center of the hall, waiting for his wife to say something to him. They sat like that for a long silent moment, Penelope’s gaze questing through the familiar features of her husband for the truth and feeling awe creep over her soul. One moment, he was clearly the man she loved returned from the dead; the next, he was a stranger still huddled in the rags he hadn’t changed out of despite having discussed it already.
Telemachus saw his mother’s hesitancy and reproached her for it, assuring her that this was truly his father. He asks how she could be so cold, so cruel as to hold back in chill silence instead of running to him and speaking to him after 20 years away. Penelope told her son that she was simply stunned with shock and wonder, but that she and Odysseus had secrets known only to them to test this would-be Odysseus. The man himself heard this and smiled in respect for his wife’s distrust. He’d have done the same in her position. They truly were well-matched. “Leave me with your mother, Telemachus. Let her test me as she sees fit. I can hardly blame her for doubting me, filthy and ragged as I am. I’d doubt me too if I didn’t know better. I need you to do some thinking while your mother and I speak. It needed to be done, but we did just murder dozens of the richest and most powerful young men in the islands. Their families are going to want vengeance, and we probably need to get the fuck ouf of Ithaca and lay low for a while.”
“I’ll noodle on it, but you should be the one to make our plan. No one has a head for tactics like you. We’re with you though, have no doubt about that.” “Alright, then here’s the plan: go wash and dress in your best tunic. Tell the maids to dress up nice as well. Get that bard to play a jaunty tune so that anybody who passes the palace won’t suspect what happened here today. They’ll assume that one of the suitors finally won the day and a wedding feast is underway, which will buy us some time. We’ll be able to slip out of Ithaca before the news leaks out.” Telemachus went out to carry out his father’s orders, creating a successful ruse. People passing by assumed that the queen was indeed getting remarried and were very judgmental of her for not holding out to the bitter end.
Odysseus bathed (or rather, let his maid Eurynome bathe him and rub him with oil) and then dressed in his royal clothes to make a good impression. Athena (who was still hanging around) threw some extra sexy on his shoulders for good measure before he went back to his wife. “You are a very strange, hard woman Penelope. What other wife could have been so unbending, holding back from the husband who’s been gone for 20 years of brutal struggle. I’ll respect your decision – one of the maids can make me a bed. I’ll sleep alone.”
“Strange man,” countered Penelope. “I am neither proud nor scornful, and I’m not swooning over your wardrobe change either…but I’ll admit that you look just like he did when he set sail 20 years ago, maybe a little worse for the wear, but like him. Eurycleia? Move the sturdy bedstead out of the bridal chamber. You know, the one that the king built with his own hands? Take it out and make it up in clean sheets please.” Odysseus was playing it cool, but he was getting frustrated by all this doubt. He blew up a little at Penelope’s order. “Are you serious, woman? You’re seriously asking her to move the bed I built? Why not ask her to fetch the moon for you while you’re at it? I built that bed myself from a massive olive tree that grew inside the court. Hell, I built the bedroom around the damned tree and then carved the bed out of the tree stump. There’s your secret sign, woman. No one is moving that damned bed unless you cut it down while I was away.”
Penelope’s knees turned to water beneath her. Her heart ached with the sudden certain knowledge that this really was Odysseus. No one else could possibly have known about that bed. She rushed to him, weeping, and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh gods, Odysseus! Don’t get pissed off at me now – you were always the most understanding man I know. The gods have sent us such sorrow, begrudging us our happy life. I’m sorry I doubted you, but I’ve been lied to so many times. I always feared some fraud would come bearing your name and try to take your place, so it was hard to believe it was really you after all these years. Would Helen of Argos have gone to Paris’ bed if she’d had any idea that her countrymen would bleed and die for her? Some god drove her to that shameful fate and thus sealed our cruel one. No one but you, me, and one single handmaid of my father have ever laid eyes on that bed before, so I know you’re the man I married!” Sobs overwhelmed words then, and they held each other, dissolving into happy tears. Dawn would have begun to lighten the horizon by then, glistening on their tears, if Athena hadn’t held back the night to give them time to be together.
Odysseus longed to take advantage of this gift, but he knew things were still dicey. “My beloved wife, our trials aren’t quite over. One more danger looms: the ghost of Tiresias warned me when I traveled to Hades (long story) that it would be this way. Ah, screw it. Trouble can wait for tomorrow. Let’s go to bed and have some much deserved fun.” “Bed sounds…nice. Really nice. But now that you’ve alluded to a mysterious danger, I kind of want to know what the hell is going on.” Shrugging, Odysseus related the prophecy he had been given back in Episode 72H – that he needed to put an oar on his shoulder and walk inland until someone asked him what the hell was on his shoulder, is it a fan to winnow grain? There, he was to stop, plant his oar in the earth, and sacrifice a ram, a bull, and a boar to Poseidon to finally make him let his grudge go. There, he can live a quiet life and die a gentle death. Curiosity asuaged, they went off to bed for some reunion sex.
Telemachus called an end to the fake festivities and sent everyone to bed. Having finished their first round of reunion sex, the royal couple told each other their stories of all that had happened over the last 20 years (and 24 episodes). Both stayed awake easily until the tales were done, but both passed into gentle sleep immediately after. Once they’d had what Athena considered enough time together, she roused Dawn and set the next day in motion. Odysseus rose and decided that it was time to go and see his father. He warned Penelope to shut herself up in her room just in case the gossip about the slaughtered suitors slipped out. He strapped on his armor, roused Telemachus and the two herdsmen who had been his allies the day before, and set out for the fields. Athena shrouded them in magical darkness as they traveled to keep them safe a little bit longer.
We then bounce over to Hermes. As you might remember, Hermes functions as a psychopomp in a number of stories, or a guide for the souls of the dead. The Odyssey is one of those stories. Holding his wand of pure gold that enchants men into sleep (a useful tool for the god of thieves), he led the shades of the dead suitors away from their corpses in Ithaca. Their ghosts were powerless to resist his command and followed him towards the sunless depths of the underworld. This compulsion did not prevent them from screaming their agony, fear, and despair however, and their thin, ghostly cries rang through the air like the screeching of hellbats. Keening their unearthly cries, they followed Hermes down the sunless paths past the sun’s western gates and beyond the Land of Dreams until they eventually reached the Asphodel Fields. This was the place where the unremarkable dead dwelt – those not wicked enough to be cast into Tartarus (which admittedly took some real doing and not just run of the mill rape and murder – you had to be a real bastard) yet not heroic enough to make it to the Elysian Fields or the Isle of the Blessed.
As we saw back in Episode 72H, many of the heroes of the Trojan War were kicking around the fields, including Achilles, Antilochus, Agamemnon and Ajax the Great (you know, those A-named guys). The suitors found Achilles’s shade standing with Antilochus and Ajax as they entered Hades. Agamemnon came marching up flanked by his comrades who had been murdered along with him by his wife and her lover. Achilles greets his old friend and laments that Agamemnon was cursed to die a wretched death so soon after the fields of Troy and wonders if it wouldn’t have been better for him to have gone out with them in a blaze of glory on the battlefield. Agamemnon reminisces about the fighting between the Greeks that started up over Achilles’ body (and his magical armor), ending in his men taking his corpse onto the ships to mourn. His mother, Thetis, had risen up from the sea along with her sea nymph attendants, wailing an unearthly, ululating cry and only Nestor’s recognition had kept the mortals from fleeing in a panic. The nymphs along with the Muses had performed a death dirge for Thetis’ fallen son, beginning 18 days of mourning ending with his body being burned and his ashes being mixed with those of Patroclus, per Achilles’ wishes. Agamemnon is clearly bitter that Achilles was granted such honor in his death while he, a king, was killed ignobly through treachery.
Their conversation is cut short by the arrival of Hermes and the newly dead, especially when Agamemnon recognizes one of them – Amphimedon, who had received the dead king once in his home on Ithaca. Agamemnon had been on Ithaca to try and convince Odyssesus to join the Trojan expedition. He’s shocked to see so many young, noble-looking men all slain together and asks what the hell just happened. Was it a shipwreck, cast down by the anger of Poseidon? Or maybe they were mowed down gloriously on a battlefield while trying to raid some city to steal their sheep and kidnap their women?
Amphimedon (another A-name) tells the dead about their courtship of Odysseus’ wife and blames her for their deaths. It was her indecision, he says, that planted their doom. If she’d simply accepted someone or refused, they’d all still be alive (and one of them would be the usurper king who probably murdered Telemachus, but they’re not worried about that little detail). He bemoans her subterfuge with the weaving of Laertes’ shroud, successfully tricking them for three full years and complains that some foul spirit brought Odysseus back to Ithaca long after he should have been dead (and that foul spirit, as we know, is none other than Athena). They’re bitter that the old king and the prince they had tried to murder plotted against them (nevermind that they’d been doing the same exact fucking thing) and actually pulled it off thanks to that bow of his.
Agamemnon, rather than commiserating with the dead traitors, rejoices at the cleverness of his old friend. He’s thrilled that Odysseus’ wife was actually faithful to him over his long absence. The ghosts traded stories, the only entertainment the dead had left, and the suitors shuffled into their eternal rest.
Meanwhile, back on the surface, Odysseus and his allies had arrived at Laertes’ farm. The king hustled the group into the lodge house and set them to slaughtering and roasting a pig for dinner. Odysseus himself would head out to test his aged father (because he doesn’t trust anyone without proof, not ever). He set out for the vineyard and began a thorough search, but he couldn’t find Dolius, the servant in charge of the place, or any of his sons. As it so happened, they had all just set out to gather stones for a new retaining wall for the vineyard (well, except for the sons Odysseus had just killed in his hall). He did find Laertes himself planting a sapling out in the fields. Odysseus had expected his father to be older, but he had aged beyond his years, worn down by sorrow and care. Odysseus hid away behind a pear tree and wept for his haggard father.
He cried his heart out, dried his eyes, and then pondered his next move. Should he run up to his father, embrace him, and pour out his heart or should he be Odysseus and test him first, probing him with clever questions? You already know which option he picked, because he always ponders carefully, weighs the choices, and then does the same thing he always does. He walked up behind the laboring old man. “You keep a tidy garden, old man. Everything looks nice and healthy – except you, no offense. I mean, being old and feeble and stooped is bad enough, but why are you dressed in such shitty rags? You’re clearly not being punished for being lazy, so what gives? You don’t seem like a slave – you have the bearing of a king, unless I miss my mark. You seem like someone used to being well-fed and pampered with a soft bed at night. Whose slave are you? Who’s orchard is this? Did I actually reach Ithaca? Some country yokel over there told me that’s where I was but he wasn’t the talkative sort, and kind of a dick to be honest. I’m trying to find an old friend of mine, but that asshat was no help. Maybe you’ll talk to me?
“I once had a guest visit me in my own homeland, the best visitor I ever had.” Yes, he’s talking about himself here. Odysseus thinks very highly of himself. “He said he was from Ithaca and that his father was a man named Laertes. I feasted him like a hero and gave him princely gifts when he left, including his choice of his four favorite slave girls from my palace.” “Stranger, this is indeed Ithaca, and it is in fact the home of the man you seek, but I fear he’s not here. This island is in the grip of terrible, lawless men. I’m sorry that the gifts you gave him were lost or stolen before he reached home. If he lived here still, he’d repay your generosity in kind. Tell me, friend, how long ago did you host this man? He…he was my son. At least, I think he was, unless I dreamed him up all those years ago. He’s dead, devoured by fish in some watery grave or rotting in a shallow hole somewhere. No one to mourn him, no one to tend his body. But enough melancholy. Tell me about yourself, stranger.”
Odysseus spins another brief lie about himself and claims that he saw himself five years ago, saying that the omens were good that day and they’d hoped to meet again as friends. Grief overwhelmed Laertes at these words, his brief hope that maybe Odysseus had been seen weeks ago dashed yet again. This fresh bout of mourning pricked the old trickster’s heart with guilt about what he was putting his father through, a father who clearly loved him and was still loyal. He throws himself into a bear hug with Laertes and admits his identity, telling him that the suitors all lay dead, cut down for their crimes. Laertes, hopeful but wary, asks for proof and Odysseus shows him the scar and then tells him a story about asking his father for the first trees that had been planted in this very vineyard when he was a boy. The combination was enough to convince his father, and they hugged and wept with joy at this reunion.
It didn’t take long for Laertes to think about how the suitors’ families would soon be howling for revenge against his son. Having just this moment regained him, he was terrified of losing him to a screaming mob. Odysseus assures Laertes that he has it all in hand (he very much does not) and takes him to where Telemachus has been preparing a nice meal for them all. Athena popped in (because of course she did) to undo a little of the damage to Laertes, filling out his muscles and helping him stand straight and proud again. Odysseus has been on the receiving end of this trick enough times to recognize it for what it is. Laertes rejoices in his renewed strength, wishing he could have had it yesterday to fight beside his son.
Dolius and his sons returned and stopped in shock at the sight of the long-dead king eating happily with his father who had grown years younger overnight. Odysseus tells them to get over their shock and come sit down – he was hoping they’d come back. Dolius asks if they should send a messenger to tell Penelope the good news, but Odysseus assures him that his wife already knows. Weirdly, Dolius isn’t even a little bit upset that Odysseus, you know, murdered two of his sons in the palace (who were amongst the suitors).
Penelope did indeed know, and so did most of the island by now. Gossip has wings, and word of the bloody butchery in the palace the night before had raced like wildfire. The families of the dead suitors were indeed massing, forming into an angry lynch mob to seek vengeance on the man who had murdered so many of their sons (never mind that they’d pretty well deserved it). Old lord Eupithes, father of Antinous (the first suitor to die) stands before the gathered mourners who have just finished burying the savaged corpses of their beloved sons and brothers and gives an impassioned speech calling for justice. They must hurry and catch him before he flees to Pylos or somewhere else beyond their reach. His words touched the hearts of everyone gathered there and kindled a flame of hate and rage.
Into this volatile mix walked Medon the herald and the gifted bard who had been there the night before. Medon warns the crowd that he saw a god fighting beside Odysseus – this was clearly a thing done with the blessing of the Olympians. That took the wind out of their sails, replacing anger with fear. One of the old warriors who had supported Telemachus the whole time, a man named Halitherses, stood next and told them this was all on their heads, not Odysseus’. They’d been warned, hell he himself had warned them, that this was a grave mistake and nothing good could come of it. Their sons were arrogant assholes and got what was coming to them because none of these pretentious bastards had bothered to tell them no. He agreed with Medon that they should absolutely not attack, and give up any dreams of vengeance.
This pair of speeches convinced about half the crowd, but the other half were still thirsting for blood and weren’t going to be satisfied until they had Odysseus’ head. They gathered up arms and armor and arrayed themselves in ranks outside the city, led by Lord Eupithes. Up on Olympus, Athena watched this new round of bloodshed about to break out and asked her father Zeus if he was really going to let this continue. Hadn’t there been enough fighting and killing and dying already? Wasn’t it time for peace? Zeus agrees that it’s time for it to be over, giving her permission to go confront the mob so that Odysseus could rule in peace.
About that moment, Odysseus and his small group had finished eating and sent one of Dolius’ sons to check things out and see if the coast was clear. Odysseus knew that word would get out sooner rather than later and he would have a very angry mob to deal with. Dolius saw the assembled nobles, gathered very close to the farm, and raced inside to warn his king. The small group – Odysseus, Telemachus, and the two herdsmen along with the six sons of Dolius – put on their own armor and prepared to fight. Laertes and Dolius, old and gray-bearded though they were, also got dressed in armor to join the fight if it came to that. Odysseus at their lead, they marched out to meet this much, much larger force.
Athena shifted into the form of Mentor and joined Odysseus’ little band. He rejoiced to see the goddess on their side. He tells his son that battle is in his blood and not to make their family look bad when the fighting starts (which leaves a bit to be desired as far as father-son pep talks go). Telemachus assures his father that he is raring for a fight and will absolutely not disgrace his father or his family line. Athena as Mentor hurried over to Laertes, who was thrilled to see his son and his grandson ready to fight together, and told him to offer up a little prayer to Zeus and Athena then hurl his spear.
Laertes did so, and Athena breathed her own divine strength into the man. His spear leapt from his hand and whistled across the battlefield to strike Eupithes in the head, crashing through his bronze helmet like it wasn’t there, and splattering his brains over those charging behind him. Odysseus and Telemachus charged in the wake of the spear, racing for their many opponents intent on cutting down every last motherfucker there. They might even have done it if Athena had not revealed herself and called out in a voice that rang like thunder with naked authority “make peace at once, all of you!”
The effect was immediate. Blood drained from every face and weapons crashed from suddenly nerveless fingers. The mob turned and ran in abject terror from the king, the prince, and the goddess. Zeus hurled a lightning bolt to seal the deal and put a little exclamation point on the proclamation. She told Odysseus to call off his charge and let the people flee in peace. He happily did so, allowing Athena (still wearing Mentor’s form) to set the terms of the peace that was to follow. And thus have we finally reached our own extremely long trek through the epic that is the Odyssey, which means it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about the personalities and history of one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s god is Cratus, better known today as Kratos.
Gamers today know the name Kratos from the popular God of War franchise starring Kratos as the Ghost of Sparta, a mortal who accidentally murders his own family in a very Herakles-esque bit of divine treachery. The developers chose his name because it is the Greek word for ‘strength’, not realizing that the name belonged to a minor deity who was, appropriately enough, the personification of strength. The interesting links between the fictional warrior and the mythical god were a happy accident. There are two major sources for the story of the divine Kratos, both of which we’ve encountered before: Hesiod’s Theogony and Aeschylus’ play Prometheus Bound.
Kratos was the son of the Titan Styx, daughter of Oceanus, and the Titan Pallas. He had two sisters, Nike (goddess of Victory) and Bia (goddess of Force or anger), and one brother, Zelus (god of Zeal or dedication). According to Hesiod, in the days following the end of the Titanomachy, Zeus proclaimed that all those who had not held office under his defeated father, the Titan Kronos, would be given positions of authority in the new Olympian regime. Styx was the first to approach Zeus to accept this offer and so her children were given places of high honor and allowed to dwell in the palace on Mount Olympus itself with the major gods. They became Zeus’ companions as well as his most trusted enforcers.
In Prometheus Bound, Kratos and his sister Bia open the play by dragging the captured Titan Prometheus to a remote patch of Scythian wilderness to be chained to a rock in punishment for the events in Episode 1B. The order came down from Zeus himself, and the two siblings are happily acting as the embodiment of the king of the gods’ will. It’s notable that only Kratos and Bia are present in this scene since the play depicts Zeus as high-handed and tyrannical, and Strength and Anger are the more tyrannical embodiments of power. Kratos in particular is brutal in his treatment of his captive, forcing the mild-mannered god of blacksmiths Hephaestus to forge the chains that will bind Prometheus.
The kindly Hephaestus laments over the cruel fate in store for Prometheus, and Kratos mocks him for his pity, saying that the rule of law requires the use of brutal oppression and fear. Pity is a waste of time. He continually pushes for Hephaestus to use more force, to be more brutal in his treatment of their captive – he orders the Olympian to nail the Titan’s hands to the rock, to drive a steel wedge through his chest, and to bind his legs so that he can’t so much as squirm away from the the eagle who will come each day to eat his liver. As he leaves to close the scene, he taunts Prometheus, saying that he does not deserve his name (which means ‘forethought’) and that he will be bound in his chains forever. Ironically, it is the video game version of Kratos who ends up freeing Prometheus from those very same chains as a nod to the exploits of Herakles, who eventually freed him in myth.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on Stitcher, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Twitter as @HardcoreMyth and on Instagram as Myths Your Teacher Hated Pod. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, it’s finally time to leave the Odyssey behind and hop a ride on a pumpkin carriage for the land of fairy tales. You’ll see that every incarnation of Cinderella gets a raw deal, that making friends with the animals is always a good idea, and that royalty is mostly useless. Then, in Gods and Monsters, you’ll see that Cinderella is a whole lot older than you thought. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.