Free Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two by Bernard Evslin Page B

approaching her. It was her sister Demeter, Goddess of Growing Things.
    â€œGreetings,” she said. “It’s rare that one sees you in the time of harvest.”
    â€œYes,” said Demeter shortly. “I understand that you take an interest in Ladon.”
    â€œWhat of it?”
    â€œI must ask you to restrain that gluttonous beast. He’s been ranging up and down the land, devouring my crops. He can consume a wheat field in a single day, or finish off an entire orchard. All the Boeotian harvest has fled down his maw. Now he’s starting on Thessaly. I won’t stand for it.”
    â€œBarley Mother,” said Hera, “you must be mistaken. That serpent is totally carnivorous. He touches nothing that is not meat.”
    â€œOnce, perhaps. Not now. He’s fallen in love and turned vegetarian.”
    â€œI don’t believe it!” gasped Hera.
    â€œBelieve it, Sister. Why would I be saying this if it weren’t so?”
    â€œWhat vile enchantress has tamed that splendid ferocity?”
    â€œOh, you know her well,” said Demeter. “It’s Iris’s daughter—Iole.”
    A windy dusk had flowed over the garden. The first pale stars were printing themselves on a great blowing lilac sky. Hera’s screech of rage made them shiver on their axes.

6
    The War God
    Ares, God of War, needed hours of violent exercise before he could speak politely to anyone. Since Aphrodite was coming to visit him that afternoon, he spent the morning with a wild bull he had just added to his herd. It was a magnificent animal—huge, pure black, with coral nostrils, ivory hooves, and polished ivory horns. It had been sent as a gift by a tribe of Ares’ most ardent worshipers, the women warriors of Scythia, called Amazons.
    Ares knew that he had to teach the beast some manners before introducing it to his cows. The way to do this, he thought, was to master the bull on its own level—that is, by fighting it as if he, Ares, were a rival bull.
    They were on a grassy meadow on a plateau north of Olympus, where Ares grazed his herds and trained his horses. Wearing nothing but his helmet, Ares circled the bull, crouching, moving very slowly. The bull simply turned as Ares circled, watching him always. Ares was patient. Again and again he circled the bull, until its eyes became holes of red fire and it began to paw the ground.
    Suddenly, it charged. It bowled terrifically over the grass, a throbbing mountain of muscle, driving its sharp horns with enough force to pierce a stone wall. Ares stood his ground. He lowered his head, hunched his shoulders, and took the shock full on. Now the forehead of a bull, the space between its horns, is a heavy ridge of bone, solid as iron plate. And this frontal bone dented itself against Ares’ helmet. One horn grazed his shoulder. Blood spurted.
    But his legs were planted like tree stumps: He was immovable. The bull shook its head and trotted off a few yards. Blood streamed from its rubbery nostrils. Ares twisted his neck to look at his own bloody shoulder. Gods do not have red blood like humans. What runs in their veins is called ichor. It is pink and has a fragrance like fermenting honey, and clots very quickly, healing its own wound.
    Swiftly, the bull moved again, hooking under now with one horn, trying to stab it into Ares’ belly and rip his entrails out. Ares caught the horn, caught the other horn with his other hand, and vaulted between horns, landing on the bull’s back. All in one motion he whirled, raised his rocklike fist, and slammed it down in a spot just in front of the bull’s hump and in back of his skull.
    The bull staggered, but did not fall. Ares slid off. He watched as the bull staggered a few more steps, then righted itself and turned to face him. The fire was gone from its eyes. It was too proud to admit defeat, but did not claim victory, and did not attack. It dropped its head and began to graze. And