Pantheology

Page 5

“No one in this world could have outfought me.” Athene’s eyes drifted back towards Thor, who had now regained the power of speech.

“We’re from Olympus, sent by Zeus to speak to Odin.” Thor was about to make some unkind remark about what he had heard of the poncey gods of the Mediterranean, but checked the words on his lips, realising that doing so would be to acknowledge that he had been beaten by one of those same poncey gods.

“I will take you to the hall, and there you may speak to our lord.” Athene drew the spear away from his throat, and allowed him to get to his feet and recover his hammer. “What about him?” Thor gestured to Ares lifeless form, now in the first stages of healing.

“Leave him here. He’d only cause trouble.” The gods, one Olympian, one Aesian, made their way to the hall.

Inside the great hall were rows and rows of simple wooden tables, laden with ale-bearing tankards and roasted animals of various descriptions. At the tables feasted hundreds of warriors, attired in much the same manor as Thor, some singing (or rather yelling) songs of feats of arms, some arm wrestling with the warrior opposite.

“The chosen ones,” Thor declared proudly, “by night they feast and by day they fight, preparing for the last great battle.” The master of thunder led the bright-eyed one to the high table, which was indistinguishable itself from the other tables, marked out only by the power that radiated from its occupants: the Aesir. Athene looked from one to the next, her eyes falling on each deity in turn. They appeared almost like the Olympians, but clad in barbarian garb and hairstyles (although she decided that style was probably a misnomer). The man seated at the midpoint of the table rose when he caught sight of his son and the stranger. He seemed no different from any other of the Aesir, dressed in the same manner and wearing no symbol of rank. The only clue came when Athene stared into his one eye (a patch covered the other), and saw the wisdom of ages there.

“Pallas Athene, Olympian maiden of wisdom and war. To what do we owe the attention of the Olympian pantheon?” Athene was about to object to the questioning, which in the classical tradition was meant to be done after hospitality was given, but decided that in foreign lands it was better to accept the foreign customs.

“I have been sent from my father, to seek the advice of the wisest of the Aesir.”

“That would be me.” Odin grinned, and signalled to Thor to bring Athene a chair. “It was centuries ago that I met your father, and I am flattered that he still remembers me and seeks my humble council. Won’t you sample some of our feast?” Odin indicated the many species of butchered beasts that adorned the table. The warrior maiden politely declined, uneasy about eating anything that she could not recognize. She was also a little self-conscious, after seeing how most of the Aesir, especially Thor, seemed to be eating like starving boars. By her count he had already eaten enough animals to populate some large countries; as his beard testified to, saturated in their juices. She imagined the impact he would have gauging himself like that in the more refined halls of Olympus, although she decided that most people who complained would end up like Ares, decorating the hall with parts that better belonged on the inside of the ribcage.

“It’s our mortals.” Athene decided to plunge into the matter at hand, a little put off by the gluttonous dinning habits of her hosts. “They don’t worship with the same spirit they used to. They treat sacrifices as empty rituals.”

“Slaughter them all, choke their rivers with the dead...” Odin held up his hand to silence his headstrong son, Thor. Athene smiled inwardly, secretly pleased that other pantheons also had to put up with this kind of thing.

“A war. Mortals always turn to the gods in times of great need. The eternal enemies of your Romans, the forces of Carthage, could be used. Long ago a curse was made by Carthage against Rome. Grant its fullfilment.” Odin paused, awaiting Athene’s response.

“We don’t want Rome to be destroyed, just faithful to us.”

“Allow the Romans to be beaten back, but prevent the holy citadel from being destroyed. Let them triumph in the end and thank the gods for their success.”

“Long ago, Zeus made a promise not to allow any of the Olympians to harm the Romans. Not even he may do so. None of us may help Carthage fullfil its curse.”