Book 8

Hephaestus: What are your orders, Zeus? You sent for me, and here I am; with such an edge to my axe as would cleave a stone at one blow.

Zeus: Ah; that’s right, Hephaestus. Just split my head in half, will you?

Hephaestus: You think I am mad, perhaps?—Seriously, now, what can I do for you?

Zeus: What I say: crack my skull. Any insubordination, now, and you shall taste my resentment; it will not be the first time. Come, a good lusty stroke, and quick about it. I am in the pangs of travail; my brain is in a whirl.

Hephaestus: Mind you, the consequences may be serious: the axe is sharp, and will prove but a rough midwife,

Zeus: Hew away, and fear nothing. I know what I am about.

Hephaestus: H’m. I don’t like it: however, one must obey orders.... Why, what have we here? A maiden in full armour! This is no joke, Zeus. You might well be waspish, with this great girl growing up beneath your pia mater; in armour, too! You have been carrying a regular barracks on your shoulders all this time. Go active too! See, she is dancing a war-dance, with shield and spear in full swing. She is like one inspired; and (what is more to the point) she is extremely pretty, and has come to marriageable years in these few minutes; those grey eyes, even, look well beneath a helmet. Zeus, I claim her as the fee for my midwifery.

Zeus: Impossible! She is determined to remain a maid for ever. Not that I have any objection, personally.

Hephaestus: That is all I want. You can leave the rest tome. I'll carry her off this moment.

Zeus: Well, if you think it so easy. But I am sure it is a hopeless case.

Francis George Fowler