I had a production meeting at Quarto's this week, to discuss the six stories for my next book, THE GIANT BOOK OF GIANTS.  The publishers had already suggested seven or eight stories but they wanted me to add my favourites to the pot before we sent a shortlist to Sterling, the US publishers.

 

One of the tales Quarto suggested was SINBAD AND THE GIANT, from THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.  I liked the idea very much, and I thouhgt it would give Mark Robertson, the illustrator an opportunity to give one of the spreads a Middle-Eastern flavour.  But I was also keen to have the story of Polyphemus in too, because I really love stories from ancient Greece, and I like retelling Greek myths.   The trouble is, both of these stories are in fact the same.   The Scherezade story was taken from The Odyssey.   So what do we go for - the Ancient Greek or the Arabian Nights?

 

It made me think how stories link us all together even when geographical boundaries, religions and idealogies seperate us.  And I remembered a story I retold for AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 TALES that I had always assumed was a Greek myth but which in fact turned out to be Bulgarian.  I still don't know which version came first, the Bulgarian or the Greek.  It doesn't matter. Both versions are terrific and here, for your delectation, is the Bulgarian version:

 

Up in the Rhodopi Mountains lived a man of many talents.  Orfeo.  He was a healer, a priest, a musician who had invented a new musical instrument: the lyre.  When the nymph Evredika accepted to marry him, Orfeo thought his world was complete, his life blessed by the gods.

 

But life and the gods have a wicked habit of playing tricks on mortals.  Running across a field, Evredika was bitten by a snake.  Her howl of pain echoed across the mountains, calling Orfeo.  But he was too late with his salves and potions.  Evredika died.  

 

Orfeo was inconsolable.  How could he live without Evredika? Why would he want to go on enjoying the sunlight when his bride was trapped in the dark and gloomy underworld?  There was only one thing to do, he decided - go down to the underworld himself and speak to its rulers, Hades and Persephone. He would make them release Evredika, he would force them to send her back to the upper world with him.

 

The dead reach the entrance to the underworld by a quick route, their spirits trickling through the cracked earth like rain water.  The living have to take the long way, up a mountain and down to a gaping hole in a smoking crater, the earth hot under their feet.  A ferryman awaits them at the end of a long tunnel.  It costs merely a penny, the price of an apple, to cross the River of Sorrow.   

 

Hades and his wife Persephone welcome the newcomers to the cave of shadows, where no light shines. ‘Make yourselves comfortable, dear subjects.  You will soon get used to the damp and the cold.’

 

Steeping off the boat, Orfeo bowed till the top of his head nearly touched the ground.   ‘Your highnesses…’

 

Persephone started.  Here was a man with the glow of life still in his flesh.  Why was he in the underworld?

 

‘I am Orfeo of Thrace.’

 

‘Orfeo the musician?’ Hades’ voice echoed round the empty cavern.  ‘We have heard about your talent for music and magic.’

 

‘Your highnesses, my bride Evredika was taken before her time.  I beg you to release her.’

 

Hades’ grin changed to a scowl. ‘No one ever returns from the underworld.  The souls of the dead are mine and Persephone’s.’ ’

 

‘But she is my muse,’ cried Orfeo.  ‘Without her I cannot compose new songs.’ And he whipped his lyre from under his cloak and started plucking the strings.  For the fist time ever, the halls and caves of the underworld echoed to the sound of music, the song of the living.  The souls of the dead stopped in their wanderings to listen.  Such a sad, beautiful sound…

 

Persephone stood up and clasped Orfeo’s hand.  Something in his music had touched her ice-cold heart.

 

‘Perhaps, we can make an exception, this one time.’

 

The crowd of souls parted and Orfeo’s bride floated to his side, a white shadow wreathed in mist. 

 

Persephone spoke.  ‘Her flesh will become firm again, warm again, once you reach the sunlight.  But beware, Orfeo, you must not look at your bride again till you reach the upper world.’

 

Orfeo started walking, the lyre under his arm.  On the banks of the river, he paid the ferryman once more, a coin for him, a coin for Evredika.  There was no sound from his bride as they got off on the opposite bank, as they wended their way along the long dark tunnel.   The souls of the dead started to whisper in Orfeo’s ears.

 

‘Is your bride really following you or has she been kept in  the underworld?  Why don’t the gods  want you to look back at her?’

 

Orfeo closed his ears against the whispering and hurried on.  He knew the souls were trying to trick him.  Only when the gateway loomed up ahead and he was standing firmly in the sunshine did he turn.

 

‘Evredika.’

 

All around him, the invisible souls snickered.  Orfeo had turned a moment too soon.  Evredika was still a step too far into the shadows, still in the kingdom of Hades.  She flailed out with her arms, tried to grab hold of his, but it was no use.  The only condition the gods has set for her release was broken.  Evredika was pulled back along the tunnel and the darkness closed over her, drowning her.

 

Returned to the upper world, Orfeo continued to play his lyre until he died of a broken heart.  The people of Thrace say you can hear his music echoing round the mountains to this very day.  They are a consolation to anyone on whom the fates have played a cruel trick.