'According to him, it had a great vestibule called the Garden of Persephone, where black poplars and willows grew. Then inside, the Judgment Hall and Throne Room would have made the Palace of Versailles look like a pig-sty by comparison. Their walls, floors and ceilings were covered with wonderful designs in every kind of precious metal and the whole place glittered with precious stones.
'After crossing the Styx, the shades of the dead were brought before the three judges, Aeacus, Minos and Rhadamanthus, and given their deserts. The lucky ones got chits for the Elysian Fields and the bad hats were sent to do time in Tartarus, but the great majority were drafted into great gloomy caverns that were sort of concentration camps in which they stood around for years and years with nothing to do.
'However, Er was able to cheer up his pals by telling them that none of the shades was stuck in these places for ever. While the incoming queue was disposed of, another queue was being passed out up a passage where Heaven and Earth met in the rainbow. A character known as Necessity sat on a throne there with her three daughters, the Fates, who were named Lachesis, Clotho and Atropos.
'Necessity told the outgoing shades that they were about to be born into new bodies. Then she offered them in turn the choice from a big collection of lots, the outsides of which were marked "tinker", "tailor", "soldier", "sailor", and so on. But it was an awful pig-in-a-poke, because all sorts of other things were written inside. Some of the men who had an early choice naturally picked King, or rich merchant, only to find that they would be born blind or have their all taken off them by pirates, and some of the girls who snatched at beauty or S.A. found that their fathers would sell them to brothel keepers to pay the rent. They could change their sex if they liked and, of course, they weren't all unlucky. But really the whole thing was a bit of a hoax, because they all had to work off debts of one kind or another that they had incurred in their past lives, and the Fates had already fixed things so that, in their next lives, they would get, good or bad, what was due to them.
'Finally, Er saw all those people pass on to the treeless plain of Lethe, where there was a broad river beside which they had to doss down for the night. It was so hot there that they all got throats like ash-cans, and had to quench their thirsts at the river. Most of them drank so much of the Lethe water that it caused them to forget they had ever lived before; but there were a few who didn't drink quite so much, and that is why some people are born still retaining vague memories of their past lives. A little before dawn, they were all turned into shooting stars and scattered over the world, to descend invisibly into the bodies of the mothers who had been chosen for them.'
'Then the ancient Greeks believed in Reincarnation,' Stephanie remarked. 'Do you?'
Robbie nodded. 'Certainly I do. I've read books about all sorts of religions, and it is the only belief that makes sense. In nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of every thousand, to grant eternal bliss or condemn to unending torment according to what a person has done in a single life would be a travesty of justice. It is impossible to believe in a god who would want any creature of his to roast in hell-fire for ever. But to have to work one's passage through many lives, each based on what has gone before, and gradually learning to control all the brutal, primitive instincts, is very different. Then, when at last a person becomes incapable of a mean or unkind action, he really has earned the right to be promoted to some happier state of being than we know-on earth.'
I've never thought about it much, but it certainly sounds logical that one should be given a chance to make good the evil one has done and learn to become a better person.'
For a while they fell silent, then Stephanie asked: 'Was Er the only mortal who is said to have gone down to Hades and brought back an account of it, or were there others? That is, apart from Hercules when he had to go there to collect that ghastly dog?'
'Yes; Orpheus did, although he wasn't there long. He was the all-time-high pop-singer of those days. When he got back from going with Jason to pinch the Golden Fleece, he fell for a sweetie called Eurydice and made an honest woman of her. But while she was jiving at their wedding feast, she was bitten by a snake and died that night. As you can imagine, Orpheus was absolutely shattered, and when Death carried her away he followed him down to Hades. Charon, of course, refused to ferry him across the Styx, but Orpheus was simply wizard with his lute. First he played to the old boy, then to Cerberus. The ferryman rowed him over the river and the Hell-hound let him through the gate. Having got in, he performed his very best number in front of the King and Queen. Persephone, being a nice girl, begged her lord and master to let Orpheus have his brand-new better-half back. Pluto was a bit reluctant, but he agreed, provided that Orpheus didn't look behind him while Eurydice followed him out. Just before they reached the gates of Hades, Orpheus couldn't resist the temptation to make sure that his poppet was really behind him. She was there all right, but the instant their eyes met, he'd had it. Eurydice's rosy flesh suddenly became transparent, the gates clanged to, and he found himself outside them, having lost her for good.'
'What a terribly sad story.'
T can tell you a similar one, that had a happier ending. That was about Hercules again. He really was a terrific guy, and didn't give a hoot for either god or man. This affair arose from Apollo having tried to put a fast one over his old pop. Zeus was no Victorian parent, but all the same he was not the kind to stand for any nonsense, and he sentenced Apollo to serve for nine years on earth as a mortal.
'One of Apollo's main interests being cattle, he got himself a job as herdsman to Admetus, King of Thessaly. The King treated him so well that, when his nine years were up, he decided to show his gratitude in a very unusual way. After a little haggling with the Fates, he persuaded them to agree that, when Admetus's time came to die, he should be allowed to live on if he could find anyone who loved him well enough to go to Hades in his place.
'In due course, Death sent a messenger to tip the King off that very shortly he would be coming his way. Admetus fairly rushed round, trying to find somebody willing to stand-in for him, but no one would play. He was just about to go down for the count when his young wife, Alcestis, stepped into the breach. She said she'd rather die herself than live on without her old tickley-whiskers, provided only that he would promise not to marry again, because she couldn't bear the thought of a step-mother who might be unkind to her children.
'Admetus must have been a pretty poor fish. He wept a lot but, nevertheless, accepted her offer and made the promise. Alcestis took a bath, put on her latest Dior creation and fell into a swoon. The funeral rites were duly performed and Death carried her off.
'Shortly afterwards, Hercules turned up. Seeing that the house was in mourning, he said he wouldn't stay and, of course, if he had known that it was Admetus's wife who had just died, he would have flatly refused to inflict himself on the bereaved husband. Knowing that, and being a great stickler for offering hospitality to strangers, Admetus said not to worry, the dead woman was only a friend of the family. Then he did the usual drill of putting a wreath of flowers round Hercules's neck, producing some good bottles and having his dancing girls do their stuff.
'Hercules liked his liquor, so he got a bit lit up and started singing bawdy songs at the top of his voice. An old retainer then tapped him on the shoulder and said: "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, behaving like this when the poor Queen's body has only just been taken out of the house."