"Yes dear," will that be before or after supper? I was going to bake your favourite Mixed Owl Pie but I'm afraid that if you're going to
spank me I may have to lay in bed a few days to recover. Yout spankings are always so vigourous."
"Well of course they are," said Deus with a touch of pride. I am the King of the Gods afterall." A spasm of contending emotions crossed his brow as he struggled with the choice open to him. "A Mixed Owl Pie," he said at last, "and will it contain those sweet little tawny owls that taste ever so slightly of wood-smoke and aniseed?"
"I ordered a brace of them just this Tuesday from Hermes," said Artemisia, fluttering her eyebrows. "I know how you adore them."
"Well, " said Deus slowly, "perhaps a spanking will be unnecessary this time - but consider yourself duly repremanded!"
"Yes dear," said Artemisia, "and if you do insist on going down to Earth can you bring me several bolts of silk back from India. Saris are all the rage these days, you know."
Poseidon and Deus both arrived at the scene of the epic confrontation at the same time. High Tide and Low Tide had already laid waste to most of the coastlines of Albania, Crete, Egypt, tunisia and Libya and were now slugging it out just offshore from Turkey, not far from fabled Illium.
Just off the coast of Beirut they had paused briefly to look about them and their uncle, the sea-god Dagon, had feasted them with fish and wine and persuaded them to move elsewhere - for which act of familial suggestion Arabs, Phoenicians and even a few Jews praised him whole-heartedly and said what a splendid fellow he was. The Jews later recanted on their fine opinion of him however and crossed him off their Christmas card list but that is neither here nor there.
Deprived of his favourite thunderbolts, deus had hastily armed himself with his old battle-axe where it hung on one of the walls of the myrtle-grown vestibule of Mount Olympus. It was called 'Head-cleaver' and even now it was moaning to itself and beginning to drip phantom blood in expectation of slaughter, just as a dog that has not eaten for days slathers at the thought of a haunch of beef.
Crossing the intervening water however and seeing the devastation wrought by the two fighting tides, Deus could not help but notice the hardship and terror of the mortals gathered on the shores of this or that coast as they peered out to sea to witness the titanic struggle. As King of the Gods he was, afterall, their lord and protector and he had some sort of duty towards them. Nevertheless, much as he would have liked to chop both the two young rascals heads off he had decided to attempt first, at least, a diplomatic approach. He was also, he supposed - whether he liked it or not - their uncle and they would surely listen to him.
to be continued...
"Well of course they are," said Deus with a touch of pride. I am the King of the Gods afterall." A spasm of contending emotions crossed his brow as he struggled with the choice open to him. "A Mixed Owl Pie," he said at last, "and will it contain those sweet little tawny owls that taste ever so slightly of wood-smoke and aniseed?"
"I ordered a brace of them just this Tuesday from Hermes," said Artemisia, fluttering her eyebrows. "I know how you adore them."
"Well, " said Deus slowly, "perhaps a spanking will be unnecessary this time - but consider yourself duly repremanded!"
"Yes dear," said Artemisia, "and if you do insist on going down to Earth can you bring me several bolts of silk back from India. Saris are all the rage these days, you know."
Poseidon and Deus both arrived at the scene of the epic confrontation at the same time. High Tide and Low Tide had already laid waste to most of the coastlines of Albania, Crete, Egypt, tunisia and Libya and were now slugging it out just offshore from Turkey, not far from fabled Illium.
Just off the coast of Beirut they had paused briefly to look about them and their uncle, the sea-god Dagon, had feasted them with fish and wine and persuaded them to move elsewhere - for which act of familial suggestion Arabs, Phoenicians and even a few Jews praised him whole-heartedly and said what a splendid fellow he was. The Jews later recanted on their fine opinion of him however and crossed him off their Christmas card list but that is neither here nor there.
Deprived of his favourite thunderbolts, deus had hastily armed himself with his old battle-axe where it hung on one of the walls of the myrtle-grown vestibule of Mount Olympus. It was called 'Head-cleaver' and even now it was moaning to itself and beginning to drip phantom blood in expectation of slaughter, just as a dog that has not eaten for days slathers at the thought of a haunch of beef.
Crossing the intervening water however and seeing the devastation wrought by the two fighting tides, Deus could not help but notice the hardship and terror of the mortals gathered on the shores of this or that coast as they peered out to sea to witness the titanic struggle. As King of the Gods he was, afterall, their lord and protector and he had some sort of duty towards them. Nevertheless, much as he would have liked to chop both the two young rascals heads off he had decided to attempt first, at least, a diplomatic approach. He was also, he supposed - whether he liked it or not - their uncle and they would surely listen to him.
to be continued...
