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Under the steady gaze of Helios, as Zephyrus gently blew at their hair and the hems of their tunics, the young prince of Phthia and his beloved companion stood together on a hill, prepared to give libations to Zagreus, the god of blood and life.
The prince held the bowl while his companion poured wine into it from the jug. Though a Chthonic god Lord Zagreus was, their young minds fretted over causing offense by killing, and so the blood they sacrificed was their own, emptying the self-inflicted pricks of their fingers into the phiale in the prince’s hand. They both prayed as the prince poured the wine onto the dry, dusty earth—for libations to Chthonic gods were not given on holy altars as they were to the gods of Olympus. They entreated Lord Zagreus, prince of the underworld, in their high, fluting voices, which were yet untouched by the flush of their budding manhood.
The god of life heard their prayers, and he was delighted, for he did not often receive offerings from those on the surface. He rose from the gloomy underworld, up to the green, light-filled earth, before the two boys.
The prince gasped in excitement. “Look, Patroclus! It worked!”
“Achilles, please remember to mind your manners,” Patroclus said, as he kneeled and lifted his arms to the god before them. Achilles nodded and followed suit.
Zagreus had never seen the surface before, and so he was almost too distracted by his surroundings to notice the two boys. He looked around eagerly at the sun and the sky, the grass and trees, and the ocean below at the bottom of the hill. Eventually, he regarded Achilles and Patroclus, who averted their eyes in deference, waiting patiently to be addressed.
“Er,” Zagreus started, in a way he would have admitted was rather ungraceful for the bearing of a god. “For what reason have you called me here?”
The boys lifted their heads and looked at one another. After a moment, it was the golden-haired prince who spoke.
“Well…” he said carefully. “We had hoped that perhaps you would play with us, Prince Zagreus.”
“‘Play with you’? As in… games?”
Patroclus looked as if he were trying not to fidget. Achilles, however, lifted his chin confidently. His tone was cool and calm, betraying no hint of self-consciousness.
“Yes…. Why not?”
Zagreus chuckled at such an unexpected, innocent request.
“Why not, indeed. To be perfectly honest, I have never been to the surface before. Perhaps you can show me more of what it is like.”
The boys looked at one another again, this time with keen expressions—the color was high on their cheeks.
“We would be delighted,” Patroclus said, his eyes still on Achilles as he spoke. “What shall we do first, then?”
“Let us take him to the beach,” Achilles replied. “I’m fairly certain they don’t have anything like it in the underworld.”
“The beach?” repeated Zagreus.
“Just there,” Achilles said, pointing towards the ocean.
“Ah… my Uncle Poseidon’s domain,” Zagreus said.
“Yes… and mine as well, in fact. My mother is a sea nymph, you know. I can teach you all sorts of things about the ocean, if you wish.”
Zagreus felt his own excitement beginning to bloom in his belly.
“I would like that very much,” he said.
“Follow us then, Your Grace,” said Patroclus. “Please watch your step, the hill is a bit steep.”
The three of them followed the winding path down the hill to the beach. As they descended, Zagreus’ pace slowed, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His attention was distracted by the view of the vast, sparkling sea.
“Wow…,” he murmured. “What is all this, exactly?”
“You mean the ocean?” Achilles asked. “It is but water. Though it is also full of salt, among other things.”
“All of it is water?” Zagreus mused, utterly awestruck. “It’s so big…. In the underworld, there are only rivers. Can we get closer?”
“Of course. It’s not dangerous, so it cannot harm you…” Achilles suddenly grinned impishly. “…As long as you know how to swim.”
“Er,” said Zagreus.
“Oh, please do not worry Your Grace, it’ll be all right,” Patroclus told him. “You’ve got us.”
Even for a child, his voice was gentle and sweet with calm reassurance, and any reservations Zagreus might have had quickly dissipated.
They ambled onto the sand, and the boys’ pace began to quicken as they got closer to the water. Zagreus found he was not accustomed to how much the surface yielded here, and he had difficulty keeping up.
“The sand is hot this time of day,” Patroclus warned. “Be careful.”
Zagreus allowed his feet to sink into the soft ground. He frowned.
“It feels quite cool to me.”
Achilles turned around, studying Zagreus for a moment before he understood. He grinned again.
“It is your feet… they must be hotter than the sand… interesting.” He pointed to where his toes were buried in wet sand, getting submerged by the flow of the tide. “Come over here… try this.”
Zagreus joined him, and as soon as his feet touched the darkened sand, steam rose from the ground. Then the waves rolled in, and as the sea swallowed him up to his ankles, the water around him bubbled and roiled loudly. Along with a constant hiss, a thick white steam cloud rose up and surrounded Zagreus, blinding him, and he could only hear Achilles and Patroclus as they howled with excitement and wonder somewhere beyond the white fog.
“Should we worry that the ocean will snuff out his feet completely??” Patroclus cried out over the commotion.
“I am not sure!” Achilles shouted in reply. He called to Zagreus: “Are you well, Prince?”
Zagreus chuckled.
“I think so,” he called back. He leapt away, onto a dry patch of sand. The smoldering of his feet seemed completely unaffected. The boys stared at them as the last of the steam cleared away, their eyes wide with fascination.
The activities soon turned into a treasure hunt along the shore. The boys were eager teachers, gifting Zagreus one item after another, naming each of them and explaining their purpose.
“Look, Achilles, I have found something special.”
Patroclus’ hands were cupped around an object, obscuring it from view. “Let us present this one to the underworld prince together.”
“Let me see it, first,” Achilles insisted.
“Excuse us, Your Grace.”
The two boys turned their back to Zagreus for a moment, their heads close as they muttered conspiratorially to one another. Then Achilles gasped, whispering rapid words in surprise and delight when the secret was revealed to him. At last, they turned around toward Zagreus again.
“Close your eyes,” Achilles said. “And hold out your hand. If it pleases you.”
Zagreus did as he was told. A moment later, something firm and clammy was placed into his hand. He opened his eyes.
It was an unusual object. It looked like a dark amber pouch, small enough to fit in his palm, with curly tendrils hanging off of one end.
“Hold it up to the light,” Patroclus instructed.
Zagreus obeyed, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger. The sunlight made the inside glow gold. Within, a long, pale creature wriggled spiritedly.
“What is it?” Zagreus asked, amazed.
“It is an egg case. There is a baby shark inside.”
“A baby what?”
“A shark. It is like a fish, but with teeth.”
“Oh, I see. What shall we do with it?”
“Since it is still alive, we ought to take it to a rock pool and tie it down so it will not wash ashore again. It will not survive if it is not underwater.”
Achilles led the way. As they walked along the shore, the two boys picked up items from the sand, depositing them into a satchel at Patroclus’ hip. Zagreus looked down as he walked; the sand was littered with curious baubles—stones and sea plants and colorful textured objects he did not know. These latter ones seemed to be what the boys were attracted to; Zagreus picked up a few handsome-looking specimens for himself. They were hard like stone, but the shapes and patterned features were unusual.
“What are these?” Zagreus asked the boys.
“Seashells,” Achilles replied. “Like armor, in a way. There are animals that live inside, and their shells wash up on the shore after they die. Aren’t they pretty? My mother favors the pearls found inside some of them, though I think even these make quite a lovely collection. But here, we will show you some of the creatures I speak of.”
The rock pools, Zagreus discovered, were shallow areas of elevated water, largely undisturbed by the rolling waves. Achilles found a deep patch of seaweed in one and submerged the egg case, gently winding the tendrils around the swaying sea flora.
The boys spent a long time pointing out all of the strange-looking creatures they spotted in the pools: crabs, starfish, urchins, sea anemones; and indeed, those adorned with their shells as well: snails, mussels, and barnacles.
“These ones are quite good to eat,” Patroclus remarked in his mild voice when showing Zagreus a cluster of black mussels.
“You can eat them?” Admittedly, Zagreus thought that they looked rather unappetizing.
“Oh, yes. Not the shells of course, but the flesh inside is quite tasty.”
Achilles groaned, chuckling lightheartedly.
“Oh Pat, why must you speak of eating? This conversation is making me hungry.”
“Are we going to try to eat some now?” Zagreus asked, slightly alarmed but also a little curious.
“Oh no, of course not,” Patroclus said, shaking his head. “We prefer to eat them cooked, but it would take some time and effort to prepare. And I have already brought along food from the kitchens for us instead.”
“Perhaps it is time for a rest,” Achilles suggested hopefully.
“Very well then,” Patroclus agreed.
The three of them retreated back to the sandbanks, where they sat upon old, fallen logs under the shade of a large olive tree. The boys shared a seat next to one another, with Zagreus in a spot to himself across from them.
Patroclus opened his satchel and pulled out a cloth, which he unwrapped to reveal loaves of bread, a container packed with soft, crumbly cheese, and some sort of round, plump fruit with purple skin. Achilles plucked one of the fruits from Patroclus’ lap, his eyes gleaming covetously.
“Achilles, do you have no patience at all?” Patroclus chuckled.
“Of course I do. But this is what I like when it is just us. We can have our dessert at the beginning.”
“But it is not only the two of us. We should offer some to Prince Zagreus, first.”
Achilles hummed, conceding.
“I suppose you are right. You may have this one, Your Grace,” he said, placing the fruit into Zagreus’ hand. And then, before Zagreus could ask, he added: “It is a fig, in case you didn’t know. Have you tried one before?”
“I haven’t. Is it quite sweet?”
“Yes, though not overly so. But it is our favorite. The skin is soft, so you can simply bite into it. Please try it.”
Zagreus did. The skin was slightly bitter, but not unpleasant; the flesh inside was juicy, and delicately sweet. The rosy pink seeds inside added a crunchy texture among the softness.
“It is good,” Zagreus said around his mouthful. The boys grinned, satisfied to have pleased him, and bit into their own figs.
“Did you know,” Patroclus said softly while staring at his fruit, “There is a dead wasp inside every ripe fig?”
“What?” Achilles exclaimed, sounding just as amused as he was scandalized. “Pat, are you joking?”
“Not at all,” Patroclus answered seriously. “The fig wasps lay their eggs inside the unripened fruit while also pollinating the flowers around it, and then die. The male eggs hatch first and mate with the unhatched females. Then the females hatch and emerge from their host fig, already pregnant and covered in fig pollen. And the cycle begins anew.”
The death of one living thing giving life to another. Where one goes, the other follows; a constant, unending cycle. It was the sort of mutualism that Zagreus, for various reasons, could appreciate very much.
Achilles hummed again, his eyes bright with mischief.
“Well,” he said around a sly grin, “If there are dead wasps inside my fig, then they are very delicious, indeed. And perhaps, if we tell the other boys at the palace your story, we might be able to put them off figs entirely, so we will have more to ourselves.”
Patroclus laughed.
“How diabolical of you, my prince,” he responded dispassionately, though the small upward curl of his lips hinted that he was keen on this idea as well.
After that, the three of them enjoyed their snack without speaking much—the activities had made them all rather hungry. The boys were generous hosts to Zagreus, giving him the largest portions of their bread and cheese. It was not necessary for gods to sustain themselves on anything but nectar and ambrosia (or pomegranates, as the delicacy they were considered to be in the underworld), but Zagreus found there was a simple pleasure in this humble food of mortals, enjoyed among company, and he savored each bite.
As he ate, he watched the boys carefully. Achilles’ eyes seemed to keep wandering to Patroclus as he chewed, the movements of his mouth gradually slowing down as his gaze fixated on the other boy. Patroclus, sensing it, turned to him. Achilles smiled, even as it seemed he had just then awoken from a daydream. Patroclus smiled back at him, and they continued to stare at one another until Patroclus finally turned away. His face was hidden from Achilles, but from where he sat across from them both, Zagreus could easily see his bashful expression. Achilles, for his part, smiled softly as he stared at the food in his lap, a rosy tinge appearing on his cheeks.
Little sweethearts, Zagreus thought fondly.
When their break finished, the three stood up once more and resumed their playtime together. The boys gave Zagreus a swimming lesson. After that, they played games of racing and skipping rocks on the shore until at last the sun began to sink towards the horizon.
“The dinner bells will be ringing,” Patroclus said. “We must go soon.”
“Must we?” Achilles sighed. “Such a shame, we were having so much fun. What about you, Prince Zagreus?”
“I suppose I’m due to return to where I belong as well,” Zagreus said.
“Will we ever see you again? May we summon you another time?”
Zagreus smiled, and shook his head.
“I do not think it is a good idea,” he said. “I am bound to the underworld. I am not meant to stay here for long.”
“Do not fret, Achilles. We are mortals after all,” Patroclus said. “We will meet Zagreus again, someday.”
Achilles fixed his gaze on Zagreus. His expression was inscrutable for a moment, as some sequence of thoughts seemed to turn around in his mind. Then he said:
“When I die, I shall come find you. I will teach you more. Anything you want. I swear it.” He turned to Patroclus. “Won’t I, Pat?”
It did not sound like an empty promise. There was no hint of childish whimsy or hyperbole in it; he said it with calm, solemn conviction.
Patroclus nodded.
“Yes,” he affirmed, also addressing Zagreus. “And I shall assist you as well. When you are hungry, or in pain, please come to me. I shall feed you, and treat your hurts any time you wish.”
Zagreus smiled.
“I shall be looking forward to it, then. But not too soon, I hope.”
Zagreus kneeled down to their eye level. He reached out and cradled their heads gently, weaving their golden and sable curls around his fingers as he spoke softly to them.
“Please take care of each other. I wish for you to have long, happy lives together.”
Zagreus then reached down further and clutched each of their hands, bringing them flush, compelling them to become interlaced with one another. He held their joined hands between his own, as if they were something precious. Achilles and Patroclus both stared solemnly at their union. Even as the color rose on their cheeks, and their eyes filled with some nebulous emotion, neither of them spoke. They stared, and stared.
It was on an occasion after much time had passed that Zagreus was wandering the halls in the House of Hades, until he happened upon Thanatos, holding two cloaked shades in each of his arms.
“Shhh,” Thanatos shushed softly. “Do not wake them. They’ve been asleep since I came to collect them.”
Curious, Zagreus came forward to get a closer look at the faces underneath the hoods. Thanatos cradled their diminutive forms easily, as if they were babies, but as Zagreus leaned in, he could see that they were not.
They were old men. The hair on both had turned completely white, but their wrinkled skins’ complexions reminded Zagreus of the matching golden and sable colors that they had once been. Their faces were covered in permanent lines, the marks of countless smiles etched around their eyes and cheeks. They looked peaceful in death; their expressions free from any troubles.
And then Zagreus saw it, resting gently against the center of Thanatos’ chest: the locked intertwining of their fingers.
“One could not go without the other, I imagine,” Zagreus said, his tone as fond as the smile on his face.
“No,” affirmed Thanatos. “They are meant for Asphodel… I am taking them there now.”
Before letting them go, Zagreus leaned in quietly, tucking a silver curl behind the ear of Achilles, and placed a gentle kiss on his brow. He then turned to Patroclus to do the same, tucking another stray curl behind his ear, kissing his brow, too.
“Have a safe journey,” he said.