Never apart.
Such was the state for Orpheus and Eurydice who felt the constant warmth and life-force of Love within, burning as brightly as any star. Theirs was a song all its own, benevolent and all-inspiring; it drew others too, the birds and beasts of the world, gods and goddesses who watched with keen, timeless eyes the unfolding of a mystery elusive to them. As for mortals, they too watched, listened, and hoped for such a love.
But not all are fated to live such a life, and those who feel the Morai set against them are filled more with bitterness. Some were jealous of the music Orpheus played, of the love that bound him and Eurydice, the happiness that graced the land wherever they travelled.
It made no matter to the lovers, for they walked in a light that was all their own, a light that outshone wickedness. Wherever they roamed, wherever Orpheus played, crops thrived, people smiled and felt gratitude for their own worlds and lives, and there was a sense of peace not seen since after the great wars of the Gods and Giants.
On a clear night in Spring, on the banks of the river Strymon, in the lands of the Edonians, Orpheus and Eurydice lay in each other’s arms beneath a thick blanket.
They gazed up at the broad firmament and saw the stars of Centaurus, Hydra and the Great Bear shifting and dancing in the light-pocked darkness.
Every day since they had met had been a wonder, and it was for moments like that, lived together, that they drew breath. Orpheus held his lyre and played softly to the night sky, and it was as if the stars themselves could hear, their constellations shivering and dancing to the music that rose up from that earthly plane to weave in and among their distant beacons.
Eurydice watched in wonder, her hand resting upon his chest, feeling it rise and fall as he played.
“I never thought to hear such beauty, my love,” she said to him when he finished playing, resting her head upon his shoulder.
“And I never thought that such joy as that which I feel now was even possible, in this world or in any other.” He turned to look upon her, and the light in his eyes was as the rising of the sun over the sea. He set his lyre down once the final note faded, and knelt in the sand before her. For a moment, his words caught in his throat as he looked upon her. Gods… Can I be so fortunate that she would love me as much as I love her? I would live at her side and play for her for all eternity…
“What is it, my love?” Eurydice asked, her hands reaching up to hold him. She observed every part of his face which she loved and which she could not live without.
“Eurydice…I…I love you beyond all things. You are my world, and my truest love and friend. I never thought to know the meaning of that, but when I look upon you, when I hear you, and when I hold you close, by the Gods I feel absolute certainty. You are everything to me, my love. Every breath I draw, every song I play…it is all for you.”
Eurydice smiled, but there was one thought that harried her every sense… Do the Gods permit such joy as this? How can it be that we are allowed such love? She felt a little fearful then, but in looking upon Orpheus, the light in his eyes that shone directly onto her, she felt the welling of love’s courage. “I would fly into the face of the sun if it meant that I could only have one day with you, Orpheus. I never dreamed I could love as I love you…but I do. I love you, Orpheus.” She looked up at the night sky. “I love you more than any star or song,” she said, tears of purest joy falling from her eyes as she looked back at him. “This world, and everything I see and hear and feel, are all better and brighter because of you and how much I love you.”
He kissed her then, their hearts and souls completing the final, invisible and eternal binding, making them one great, life-giving force.
In that moment, on Olympus, Aphrodite smiled and wept to herself, for such was the perfection and the possibility of her domain, of Love’s eternal realm. No god can be jealous of such purity, she thought.
When Summer’s hot breath blew among the mountains and coasts, the time arrived for the joining of Orpheus and Eurydice. A great feast was to take place afterward in the land of Pieria, beneath the soaring slopes of Olympus.
It was a gathering of gods, heroes, and mortals, all of them drawn to that blessed event for the thread of a song that they could not hear, but felt in every fibre of their being, in the land itself. They came as if to gaze upon a wonder of their world and time.
Apollo and the Muses were present as people gathered and filled the valley with boisterous song and speech as they waited to see the lovers bound before Zeus and Hera.
The day passed in a blur of music and colour and smiling faces for Orpheus and Eurydice, but every look and touch that passed between them was as clear as a favourite memory. They would never forget holding each other’s hands as they watched the Olympians arrive in procession from their lofty halls, Zeus and Hera at their head, followed by Aphrodite, Athena, Earth-Shaking Poseidon, Golden Hermes, and Swift-Footed Artemis. Ares arrived too, despite his discomfort with the widespread peace, and Hephaestus and Demeter. They all gathered closest to the altar and waited, their brilliance shining out from where they stood as they smiled at the couple.
Eurydice smiled when she saw the throngs of Thracian Dryads come out of the North to watch from the nearby trees, tears in their eyes at the sight of their friend. Cheiron arrived from Mount Pelion with some of the centaurs, and from the shore of the sea came Amphitrite and her Nereids in a procession out of Poseidon’s deep, great conch horns heralding their arrival.
The mortal men, women and children who dwelled about the foot of Olympus were inexorably drawn to that place, some because they had the eyes to see what was happening, others because they felt something momentous was about to occur within the light of the brilliant aurora that shone out from that place with the Gods’ arrival.
Even King Oeagrus, Sweet-Voiced Calliope’s mortal husband, arrived to see Orpheus wed, his warriors in tow, unarmed and ready to feast among the Gods.
“Now, he comes?” Apollo growled beside Calliope.
But the muse held her lord’s hand and spoke soft words to him, her lithe hands caressing his cheek. “Today is for Orpheus and Eurydice, Lord. Oeagrus is nothing now, and so he shall always be. But he did order Marsyas to stay away.”
Apollo nodded and caught Orpheus’ eye. The sight of Orpheus and Eurydice made Apollo smile and forget the willful bitterness that could fill even the heart of an Olympian.
“He is here!” Erato called out and the entire gathering of gods, heroes, beasts and mortals grew silent as a young, beautiful man walked into their midst.
“Hymenaios!” Zeus called out to the young god. “Welcome!”
Hymenaios walked shyly but with purpose among the parted crowd toward the altar where Orpheus and Eurydice stood surrounded by the Gods. He smiled when he saw them, but then he paused before a goddess with a lion, and a young shepherd who stood with her.
“Whom does Hymenaios stare at, Lord?” Orpheus asked Apollo.
Apollo leaned closer to answer. “That is my son, Aristaeus, and his mother, Cyrene. Aristaeus wished to come and meet you, to thank you for all that you have done, for his flocks and bees have thrived like never before as your music has passed over the land. He provided meat and honey for the feasts this night.”
Orpheus smiled at that thought, but Apollo did not, for he could see the look that Hymenaios, he who blesses marriages, gave to Aristaeus. It was the only cloud to pass over that great gathering.
Even as Hymenaios turned away from Aristaeus and Cyrene, the cloud departed and light shone on Orpheus and Eurydice who watched him approach.
Hymenaios held aloft his bridal torch of gold which contained a blaze of sunfire, the light that touches all. All eyes were upon him then, for he was as beautiful as any man could be, and more so. His thick hair fell in dark brown waves, and his skin was as pale as any goddess’. He was not muscular like a warrior, but slim and quick as the deer who run the wood with Artemis. In the light of the torch he carried, however, it was Hymenaios’ luminescent, grey eyes that drew the onlooker, for they could see much. Where Aphrodite and Eros could see and make a love match among mortals, Hymenaios’ could look into the hearts of any man or woman and know the truth of their love and, sometimes, the outcome of that love.
The beautiful god bowed low to the Olympians as he came into their midst and stood before Hera and almighty Zeus.
“Hymenaios,” Zeus said, thunder sounding in the great distance. “What do you see? Shall this union proceed?”
Hymenaios turned to Orpheus and Eurydice then, his eyes wide and glossy. He smiled to himself and tears formed about his far-seeing eyes. He nodded slowly. “I bless this marriage, Lord Zeus,” Hymenaios said softly. “It will be most joyful!”
Immortals and mortals cheered at that down the length of the valley.
Hymenaios, however, grew severe in countenance, and turned so that only the Gods, Orpheus and Eurydice could hear him. “But every great union, no matter how true, will feel the sting of pain in its lifetime…” He looked directly at the couple where they stood, hands clasped. He could see their hearts were already joined. “Would you give up your love to avoid the pain to come?”
Orpheus and Eurydice held each other’s hands tightly at that, but they did not let go. They shook their heads without delay, though they were afraid for the first time.
“I will never give up my love of Eurydice,” Orpheus said.
“Nor would I turn my back upon my love for Orpheus,” Eurydice said.
“Then give me your hands,” Hymenaios said, extending his left palm so that they placed their joined hands upon it. With his right hand, he held the bridal torch beneath so that its flames caressed their joined hands. “May the fire that burns within your hearts burn brightly, and as one, for all time. May it guide you and warm you, and may your love be an example to all who walk this Earth. By the Gods…I bless your union.”
Hymenaios withdrew the torch and watched as Orpheus and Eurydice kissed tenderly, the applause from down the slopes of Olympus and into the valley as thunderous and toilsome as though great waves were crashing among them.
“Oh Hymenaie!!!” shouted every God, man, woman, satyr, nymph and centaur who was there.
“I love you, Orpheus,” Eurydice said, her heart bursting with a joy that had already overwhelmed the warning they had received.
“And I love you, Eurydice. I will love you forever.”
The festivities began in earnest with wine and offerings of food being set upon the Gods’ altars far below, and ambrosia and nectar passed among the Olympians.
Music too, and words of such sweetness from the Muses’ lips fell down the mountainside to rush among the gathered masses, like clear mountain waters in the springtime, bringing life to all.
The Gods came to present their wishes to Orpheus and Eurydice where they sat at a broad ivory table set with a bounty of food and wine. The couple received the Gods’ wishes with gratitude and humility, and this pleased the Olympians, for though they too might have felt the sliver of jealousy, the power of the love between Orpheus and Eurydice was such that all who saw and felt its presence were enriched by it, be they mortal or immortal.
The cries of Oh Hymenaie! broke out long into the night and passed the lips of every being there at least once, every being that is, except for Aristaeus, Apollo’s son.
Aristaeus, that most skilled hunter and herdsman, the keeper of bees raised by the Horae, and trained by Cheiron himself, sat silent in his cups of wine, watching Orpheus and, mostly, Eurydice. He had indeed come to thank Orpheus for all that his music had achieved, but when he had set eyes upon Eurydice, he quite forgot his purpose in being there.
Though he was respected among gods and men for his skills, he was as a rough presence among the colourfully-clad, brilliant throng, appearing more as one of the beasts he hunted, with his pale, dirty hair, rough beard, and grey piercing eyes so used to searching in the dark woods of the world.
“Why do you stare at her so?” his mother, the goddess Cyrene, said to Aristaeus at one point in the evening. She stood beside him, her hand stroking the head of the lion that never left her side. “She is beautiful,” Aristaeus said, turning to his shining mother, the light glinting off of her golden necklace. “I am Apollo’s son. Why should I not also have the gift of music, and be blessed with such a love as that?”
“The Morai have different plans,” Cyrene said, her voice firm and unyielding. “Not even your father can counter them.”
“I help so many, and yet I am ever alone. If only I could-“
“Could what?” the goddess said, cutting off his words. “I know not what is in your mind, but it seems that Hymenaios did, even before you. Whatever it is, leave it. You have your own paths to tread,” she turned to look at Orpheus and Eurydice, “and they have theirs.”
Aristaeus heard his mother’s words, and knew the truth of them. But he could not ignore the thoughts that ran round in his mind like the cycle of the seasons, unstoppable and ongoing. Slowly, he made his way through the mass of celebrants like a hunter through the wood, his eyes ever on the shining place where the Olympians were gathered about Orpheus and Eurydice.
Then, with his great arms raised above all, Zeus stepped forward and turned to the newly-wed couple. “This union pleases us greatly, and we bless you this night.”
Orpheus and Eurydice stood from their seats and bowed to Father Zeus.
“I would ask one thing of you on this joyous occasion,” Zeus continued.
“Anything, my lord!” Orpheus said.
“Play for us, Orpheus,” Zeus commanded with a smile that made even Hera link her arm through his. “Let us hear your joy in this moment that we may remember it always.”
“With all my heart, Lord,” Orpheus said, taking up his lyre. He kissed Eurydice then and left his seat to stand among the Gods.
Eurydice watched her husband as he stood, a shining light among the Immortals. As she watched and waited, she felt the comfort of the Thracian dryads, her family, as they crowded around her, joyful at her own good fortune at Love’s hand.
A silence swept over the entire valley then, and all eyes sought the light from Orpheus’ lyre as one searches the night sky for the first twinkling star at dusk.
Orpheus looked upon his wife then, his fingers poised, his face as happy as it had ever been.
He began to play, and immediately, it was as if the sun began to rise, bright and clear in the middle of the darkest night. The notes were soft and heartfelt, the melody telling of a loneliness healed by the truest of loves. It rose slowly and with constancy, filling the heart with warmth as a golden cup is filled with the sweetest wine.
As Orpheus played, all who heard his music saw and felt an inkling of the joys and laughters he had already shared with Eurydice, and it gave them hope for the world, for their lives. Worries and doubts were doused with the beauty of that song, though he did not sing. Words were not needed, nor poetry, for the music was a language all its own, pulling at threads of feeling that had been long-buried by some, until it was all they could think about.
It was not lost on any when Zeus held Hera’s hand in his and kissed it as gently as ever he had.
Throughout the performance, Aristaeus watched, but he did not hear. Among so many, he was the only one whose thoughts were on another path, as one who goes against the flow of life itself. He wandered alone through the world.
When Orpheus finished, the Gods applauded him, and Eurydice rushed to her husband’s side to kiss him and hold him tightly.
“Oh Hymenaie!” all shouted again.
Erato and Apollo then joined to play lively upon the cythara and lyre and all began to dance as wine and nectar flowed and the firelight blazed in the land of Pieria.
Orpheus watched Eurydice dance with the Dryads, a picture of utter joy, free of worry, and he knew that he had never been so happy in all his life.
“Oh, Hymenaie,” a voice said beside him.
Orpheus turned to see Aristaeus beside him, watching the dancing along with him.
“I offer you my congratulations,” Aristaeus said.
“Thank you,” Orpheus replied turning to look upon the huntsman. “My gratitude for the meat and honey that you provided for the feast.”
“My father asked for the best,” Aristaeus said. “And so it is.” He tore his eyes from Eurydice to stare at Orpheus. “I must thank you.”
“For what?” Orpheus asked.
“For…” Aristaeus watched Eurydice, the way she moved, and danced, the way her lustrous hair clung to her sweaty brow. “For the music you play. Never have my crops, herds, or bees thrived as they have since you played over the land.”
“I am glad it worked so, though I did not intend it. I play because I am drawn to.”
“The Morai have a plan for you then?” Aristaeus asked.
“As they do for us all, I suppose,” Orpheus replied, smiling broadly at Aristaeus. “Though I am grateful that they have smiled upon me and my wife.”
At that moment, Eurydice held her hands out to her husband. “Dance with me, my love!” she said.
Orpheus laughed and joined her, leaving Aristaeus behind.
The huntsman watched, and as he watched the Gods laugh and sing and dance about the couple, he saw one who did not.
Hymenaios stood still among the Gods then, staring directly at Aristaeus. The young god’s eyes bore into him, accused him, threatened to show him the outcome of his thinking, but before Hymenaios could, Aristaeus tore himself away and melted into the night beyond the celebratory light.