(Quick note: When I posted a drawing of the king of the Underworld and his consort, I released that some commentors weren’t familiar with the story, so I decided I’d use that as an excuse to retell it. I realise this is quite long. If you’re more interested in the significance of Greek myths and this story in particular than in me playing at Ovid, go straight ahead onto the companion piece for this which should be published soon. If not, read on, or at least look at the pictures. I appologise for the length and what-have-you, I’m indulging myself more than usual since I’m currently taking finals at uni.)

When the universe was still very young and human beings were few, there was a civil war in the heavens; a terrific battle between the Titans and the new gods that is now known as the Titomachia.  For ten long years the rivers and the oceans ran red with the blood of immortals, until at last, exhausted, the new gods stood victorious on the slopes of Mount Olympus. In those days, there were only the six of them. The mighty and impulsive Zeus was the youngest of them, but strong and quick witted, armed with a quiver full of thunderbolts. The jealous and proud Hera was Zeus’ consort, ever enraged by her husband’s wandering hands.  Motherly Demeter was a creature of the open fields; a lover of nature. Wild Poseidon, with his tempestuous moods, raged storms down upon his enemies with his barbed trident. Kind Hestia was quiet and calm, she loved the warm flickering light of the fireside above all else. And then there was grim Hades, the eldest of the three brothers, who stalked the battlefields in a magic helmet, known as the Helm of Darkness, which rendered him all but invisible. The sisters chose duties that suited them without much comment, but the brothers argued, as brothers often do. They drew lots, eventually: Zeus got dominion over the sky and crowned himself head of the gods, Poseidon got the sea, and Hades the Underworld, the land of the dead.

Image by the author: a young Hades, Zeus and Poseidon, looking dishevelled after ten years of war.

It was a long road between the tall slopes of Olympus and the dank and mysterious caves that marked the entrance of the underworld, but Poseidon, who loved horses more than any other creature, gave chariots to each of his siblings, so their journeys could be short, passing across the skies like glittering shadows. As Hades’ chariot drew up on the banks of the river Styx for the first time, the jet hooves of the horses sinking into the mud, he started to wonder if his brothers had tricked him.