Discord in Ancient Greece

Hesiod was, as his children would say, griniaris geros, or the grumpy old man. As he got older, the grumpier he got. He was mad at his neighbors, his sheep, the way his sandals rubbed against his little toe. But nothing could get him more fired up than the mention of Demodocus.

Demodocus and him had been fighting since they were children. Neither could quite remember why, but that didn’t seem to matter. Anytime Demodocus was mentioned, he was filled with a seething, roiling, red rage that could not be soothed until he was deep in his cups of kykeon. 

Hesiod looked out at the rolling green hills and pastures that surrounded his small, but humble home. He had lived here his entire life, just as his father had and his father’s father. His family had been sheep farmers on the island of Keos for as far back as anyone could remember. Selling lamb and wool in Ioulida, the capital city, was their main source of income. It wasn’t much, but when Hesiod was younger and surrounded by his children who played between the sheep pens, he was proud of his work and felt as though he was favored by the Gods.

“Malaka” He muttered, spying a lone sheep outside of its pen.

Nikandros, his oldest son at seventeen, was in charge of penning the sheep each night. He knew the dangers of wolves nearby that would not hesitate at the chance for an easy dinner.

Hesiod hobbled over, leaning heavily on his stick. He shouted at the sheep and whacked it lightly, guiding it to its brothers and sisters. Once safe, Hesiod stalked off to scold Nikandros.

He searched his home, but only found his wife, Isadora and three daughters setting out their dinner of fresh bread, plump olives, and smooth goat cheese made that morning.

“Where’s Nikandros? He left a sheep out. That damn boy has his head in the clouds when he should be focusing on finding a wife and completing his chores.”

“’Oh Hesoid, don’t be so hard on him. He’s trying to make you proud.”

Hesoid muttered words under his breath that caused his youngest daughter to blush.

Walking out of the house, a warm breeze swirled around him and suddenly filled him with anger. As he marched to the barn, he thought he saw a glimpse of a beautiful woman with a dark curtain of hair so black, it almost looked purple. She was holding a golden apple in her left, slender hand. But when Hesoid looked back, there was nothing. Hesoid shook it off and by the time he made it to the barn door, he had completely forgotten about it.

He stormed in, the scent of stale, humid hay assaulting his senses. He heard a sort of grunting and, thinking it was the pigs, began to walk back towards them. When he heard a quite distinct feminine moan, he knew. 

The anger rose inside of him again as the smell of overripe apples replaced the hay smell. He rushed back and found his son, Nikandros, rutting into a lithe woman who was marking his back with her fingernails.

“Having a good time?” He snarled, the promise of violence surging in him.

The couple gasped and the young woman quickly began to cover herself with her toga, her tightly coiled black locks hiding parts of her beet red face. Nikandros had the decency to look chastened.

“Sorry, Pater.” He muttered.

Hesoid felt some of the rage loosen. He remembered what it was like to be his son’s age. The Gods knew how much he and Isadora had gone at it when they first met and fell in love.

“Let’s go, son. You will clean the pig and goat pens tonight as punishment.”

“Yes, Pater.”

“And you, young lady, you should be ashamed. You have your virtue to look after. Throwing it away on my son is a waste.”

The girl looked up and met Hesoid’s eyes. An electric shock went through him. Why, this girl was none other than Laothoe, Demodocus’s fifteen-year-old daughter.

“You!” He shouted, his rage forming a monster in his chest that was battling to be unleashed, as a warm breeze seemed to do nothing but further him into blindness.

He cuffed Nikandros across the ear. “You know better, you sneaky, lying, little shit!”

Then, he grabbed a terrified Laothoe by her sky-blue tunic, the color matching her eyes as tears began to run down still pudgy cheeks.

“And you, you little slut and son of a whore. Go back to your worthless father and never let me catch you back here again or I will string both you and my son up by your toes and let the ravens feast on your eyes and entrails!”

Laothoe ran, sobbing down the pasture to her home near the docks. Nikandros hid a sniff and ran to the pig pens, where he began his chores in silence. He knew his son would pout and hide, but he didn’t give a damn. 

Hesoid had never known anger like that before and as he was left standing in the middle of his barn, a creep of shame flickered through him. He was mad, yes, but did the young lovers deserve his harsh words and threats?

Hesoid, still quelling with the anger, made his way back to his house where he sat down and demanded his cup of kykeon. He drank deeply.

*

Demodocus studied his catches from the day. As a sea diver, he supplied many of the island’s residents with fresh fish and, for the aristocracy, shiny pearls.

Demodocus sighed deeply as he sorted his fish, his hands as slimy as ever. He had a good life on Keos, with a wife he cared for and six children. The only thing he didn’t like on the island was Hesoid. They had been at each other’s throats since they were children, and he couldn’t stand the sight of the old man. It didn’t matter that they were the same age, Hesoid looked 10 years older and was 10 times meaner.

Just thinking about Hesoid set his teeth to a grind and his shoulders would tense. His wife, Anysia, would sooth him with kisses and massages that often lead to the birth of another child. But as he grew older, the deeper his hate ran and it could take days for his temper to reign in after just seeing the old man walking through the town, selling his wares.

Hesoid sniffed each fish, an old family traditional way of checking for disease. A diseased fish could ruin his sales for weeks on end. As he lifted the last redfish, he inhaled deeply and was rewarded with the smell of overripe apples. He sniffed again and this time smelled nothing but the saltwater and brine. Puzzled, he decided to move on, eager to get home for dinner. Anysia made the flakiest fish and served it with bright arugula and crusty, warm bread.

Suddenly, he heard sobbing coming down the hill. He looked up to see none other than his daughter, Laothoe, running towards him, her tunic askew. Had a man forced himself on her? He knew it was common in Athens, but he had always assumed on their little island that all was safe.

Anger, hot and molten, like he had never felt before consumed him. He heard a tinkling of laughter as he ran towards Laothoe. But before he could turn around and find the source, he had already forgotten, the anger in him spurring him forward.

Meeting Laothoe at the bottom of the hill, he huddled her into his arms, kissing her sweat matted hair. His nose was filled with the scent of apples once more as another wave of anger shook over him.

“Who did this?” He demanded.

Laothoe shook her head, her sobbing continuing and soaking the front of his worn tunic.

He gripped her by the shoulders and held her at arm's length. The anger causing him to shake her. He felt out of control, out of his own body. All he knew is that he would strike down the man responsible.

“Tell me right now, Laothoe. Who did this to you?”

Through sobs, Laothoe choked out the one name Demodocus despised. “Hesoid.”

Demodocus took off, grabbing a fishing spear as he sprinted up the hill to his neighbor’s home.

*

Eris hovered invisible from above. She took a bite out of her apple, its sweet juices dripping down her delicate chin. This was her favorite part. These two she had been building up for years, slightly nudging them into blind rages. Eris laughed thinking about all the fist fights and yelling matches the two mortals had gotten up to over their short lives. It wasn’t much in her grand scheme of things, but it was entertaining.

Eris didn’t particularly know why she chose these two, but one day she saw them as young boys, playing with toy swords, and before she knew it, she was sweeping down over them, making them lifelong enemies.

Now, she watched as Demodocus approached Hesoid with his fishing spear. The very same one he had used that day. Clumpy fish blood still clung to its sharp edges. Hesoid stood armed with hand shears, a look of pure violence on his face.

Eris did what she did best. She blew her apple-tinged breath into the air and watched the discord take hold of the two men. Personally, her drachma was on Demodocus, but she had been surprised before.

Chaos filled the once serene pasture as the men struck out at each other. Sheep watched on as blood sprayed, drenching the once green grass. Both men fell. 

Hesoid clutched at his neck, where the fishing spear sat firmly lodged. His last breath came with a gurgle. 

Demodocus had shears sticking out of his strong thigh. Eris watched him yank the shears out with the last of his strength. What a fool she thought. Now his death is fate.

Eris munched on her apple as she watched the poor, weak mortal take his final breath and then the two were marched to the underworld.

Oh well, Eris thought, they were Hades’s problem now as she went in search of new play things.