"Please, Grandpa, you promised us a story tonight!"
"Harrrumph. I guess I did."
"Yes, Grandpa, please tell us about the Piper of Siscia!"
"Again? I just told you kids that story three days ago. Well alright, I won't have any choice if you beg!"
Romans were never good at appeasing the Olympians' wrath. They claimed they could. But most of the time, they were busy running around. Fix these craters Jupiter blew up. Try your best to keep those plants hydrated, even if Apollo's flying low today. Mars won't give us his blessing? Fine, we'll just double our troops and weapons to overwhelm the enemy.
But one day, in the village Siscia, the goddess Minerva cursed the insolent citizens to withstand waves of snakes; garter snakes, wild pythons, rat snakes. Some salamanders and lizards, but slithery reptiles were the goddess's specialty.
"Like Medusa!"
"Who's telling the story here, you or me?"
The snakes did not much more than frighten the villagers, at first. But as time passed by, the serpents began nesting in every corner of every house, and in every basket of every store. Eggs were stolen. Chickens were found, half strangled, below piles of straw.
The messes grew. A dead horse here. A child with an infected snakebite there. This suggested poisonous snakes, a terrible revelation.
Siscia's governor, Octavian the thirteenth, became desperate and ordered his swiftest cavalry men to travel afar, spreading word of a bountiful award of five hundred drachmas, two lifetimes' worth of gold, for whoever rids the town of the cursed animals.
An effective strategy. No sooner than a week had passed, when the first exterminator had arrived. Armed with a spear and a flint, he proceeded to light several old buildings on fire. Apparently to frighten serpents out of their hiding, onto the waiting point of his spear.
This came to no avail, since the cunning snakes simply slithered inside a clay pot or hid in the water troughs. In fact, the seventh house was situated beside actual living quarters, leading the whole street to catch on fire. Hordes of furious Romans shrieked and threw decaying food waste at the exterminator, leading him to race as fast as his legs would take him out of Siscia. He had forgotten about his spear.
The next group were a band of travelers, who wanted to earn some extra gold along their journey. They offered their service, which the townspeople gratefully accepted. Under the condition that fire would not be a method to rid the pests.
The travelers set to work, and spent all day creating elaborate traps. They fitted these mechanisms behind every cupboard, inside every cubbyhole, beneath each individual crook and nanny. After an entire afternoon filled with the arduous labour, they went to the local tavern to sooth their aching throats.
The snakes were insanely clever. The only snake caught was a baby cottonmouth, who fell off a high shelf right into a cage's waiting jaws. Siscia's serpents were mildly irritated by the hassles the traps provided, and devised a plan to be rid of the travelers.
One night, they voted for the milksnake to slither out and bite someone from the troupe. Milksnakes are harmless, yet their red, black, and milky bands give it a close resemblance to the deadly coral snake. Few can tell the difference, and in the black of night, hardly anyone at all.
The milksnake had no trouble crawling underneath all the blankets they used. It aligned itself beside a rather porky member of the company, and bit down on his thigh.
Loud yells, sobbing, and howls escaped from the inn at which the group was staying out. In barely five minutes, they were rushing onto the road and loading their horses, two carrying their bitten comrade. He'd have four hours to live, before yielding to coral snake venom.
The snakes watched the company ride away with amusement.
Octavian the Thirteenth was furious. The travelers were even giving free meals and lodging, he was confident they would have all serpents eradicated in a week.
"This is my favorite part!" a little girl giggled to her cousins.
Grandpa gave her the evil eye, and she quieted down.
Two weeks had passed since the travelers scampered off. Conditions were worse than ever, with children awaking to notice a viper curled up in their chamber pots. Two goats had disappeared, and the half-devoured skeleton of an ox littered the wheat fields. Many Romans had resorted to praying, praying to Minerva to please remove these snakes and we'll teach all our children how to weave and respect you! Octavian simply scowled, keen to keep the farmers at their plows and the women at their looms. He kept burning offerings to Zeus, praying for powers that would enable him to zap the town into glory.
A third attempter walked into town that evening. Everybody thought she was a wandering gypsy, clothed in dark garments fringed with amber and gold. Some felt she was an oracle, come to tell them their fates to abandon this snake-infested town. Many were surprised when she demanded to have an audience with Governor Octavian.
When they did not respond, instead gaping at her like struggling eels, she pursed her lips and asked a young lad where Octavian lived. He held up a shaking finger to a large, temple-ish villa at the end of the street. Colorful flowers adorned each windowsill, and large, saturated felines occupied each lazy footstone.
The strange woman thanked the boy, and gave him a glittering silver denarii. The moment she turned her back, a small horde of older boys attempted to relieve the child of his meager bounty. But every time they took it, it simply reappeared in his pocket. She gave it to him, after all, and to no other.
Many townspeople tried to prevent the woman from approaching the villa. They begged her not to go; said Octavian will have her hanged for coming so brashly to his presence. They tugged on her sleeves, grabbed at the hem of her dress. But their hands passed through her, as if she weren't even there. But her voice was very, very real.
Inside the villa, the seedy-looking governor ate his afternoon cuisine. Grilled pomegranates, fluffy bread. Orange juice.
A loud noise disrupted his peace. Annoyed, he looked up, and every thought of anger and banishment faded from his mind. She was beautiful, in figure, in the sculpted angles of her chin, in the fiery volume of her eyes. Her laurel-bark hair was held back with an elaborate golden tiara. But something about the dark features of her face, and the olive tones of her skin put his instincts on alert.
He didn't know what, yet.
But when she opened her mouth, the flute-ish chords wiped any suspicions of animosity from his mind. She narrated how she had traveled from Ithaca, to rid the town of vermin and redeem her prize.
He mentally laughed, but welcomed her to try her best. After all, she may be the goddess Venus in disguise, who knew?
She took her leave.
That night, while all people of Siscia turned fitfully in their beds, the woman crept outside. The stars glittered high, the moon winked at her.
She opened her mouth, and trilled a few warm-up notes.
Gradually, she embraced the chords and spread voluminous music throughout the night sky. Her song trilled with magical notes, awakening the Olympians from their mountain. Apollo glanced down and clapped his hands in glee. Athena feigned ignorance to the sound, while wearing a miffed expression toward the Romans on her face. Aphrodite, who hid a knowing smile, nodded her head.
Back in Siscia, a gold-headed viper lifted his head. His smooth, mauve tongue darted out and tasted the winds. It was as if… someone had sprinkled sugar onto the air, each sugar crystal coated in rat blood.
The Piper continued her melodious endeavors. A horde of entranced serpents surrounding her, most villagers would have balked at the sight. But the lady started walking, while keeping up her tune. The snakes followed her to a nearby cliff, hardly a half-hour's march away.
The Piper sang no words, yet every snake saw a different image. A fat, sleeping chicken. A scampering, blinded rodent. Some people who caught word of the tune could barely remember it later. They connected a voice to that of a siren's; alluring, deadly.
She lifted her arms and raised her voice, deafening the snakes. In their frenzy, so close to the edge of an abyss, they slithered straight off the edge and into the rushing river far below.
Some say the snakes made it safely into the water, and swam away to the uninhabited forests. Others claimed they were dashed against the rocks, and that the river swept every remaining scale and fang to the sea.
Everybody in town realized they have had better rest than they ever experienced for months, long before the snakes appeared. Only those who were awake at the peak of the night understood why.
The next day began. At the crow of the rooster, Governor Octavian immediately heard rapid knocking on his chamber door.
He grumbled something about being unmindful of other people's peace. He called for his butler to open the door, but the man was undoubtedly still sleeping.
So Octavian groaned and lay in bed for an additional ten minutes, before forcing himself to open the door.
A highly-irritated woman, garmented stood at the mat, lips tight and pursed.
Octavian vaguely remembered her from the day before. "Alright, at least tell me you got rid of twenty snakes," he drawled, scratching his left eyeball.
She spoke in a prideful voice, "You shall not find a single one."
Octavian was blown away. Then he started laughing, loudly.
The doors to his villa swung open, as an early-rising page of the village dashed, panting heavily, inside.
"Governor!" he cried, "I have checked in every household, and the maids have found no cursed reptiles! I feel positive that we shall not find a single one!"
The governor glanced at the lady with astonishment. But his mind rapidly darkened with greed as he thought of a way to withhold her five hundred gold pieces. "Of course," he slowly spoke, mouth curling upward in triumph, "we have yet to verify that she actually eradicated the snakes. I decree that should we find a single reptile in this village by the end of the month, she shall not receive her reward!" He pointed back at the page. "Start searching!" he screeched.
The Piper stepped back in shock and anger. "I assure you, Governor," (she spat the title out with distaste), "I have eliminated all the snakes in your village. I can already predict you will find some twisted way to cheat me of my rightful treasure."
Octavian grinned. "You should have made me swear on the River Styx."
A cold burst of fire burned icily in the Piper's irises. "Alright, I swear on the River Styx to obtain my payment, one way or another."
She turned on her heel and sprinted out of the room.
Octavian watched her leave. He thought about the sack of drachmas in his closet. He moved them inside a wooden, metal-banded chest, and locked them with a bronze key. Then he instructed the grave digger to bury the chest in the graveyard. As for the key, he threw it inside a well. He could always tempt a young boy to swim down and fish it out later.
Nobody saw a hair of the piper, until noon the next day.
She wore shimmering golden robes, a symbol of her power. A strand of vine held a pearl around her neck.
And in a haunting voice, she beckoned to the youngsters.
They were drawn, addicted to the lush music echoing from her throat. Parents wept tearfully, the men and uncles attempting to hold the children back. It was no use, and the children freed themselves with anguished shrieks, bites, and frantic kicks. The people of Siscia could only watch in horror. Many civilians were already turning to the governor's mansion with furious looks on their faces.
Just as the piper drew the snakes away, she lured the children to the edge of the chasm. "NO!" screamed the people.
Piper and children, they all took a giant leap down. The people rushed to the edge and peered, but they saw nothing. No bodies, no clothes.
Deep at the bottom, a young river god laughed, amused.
"It's finished?" a young chocolate-haired toddler pouted. An eagle feather braided into her hair quivered.
Grandpa picked her up and put her on his lap. "That's all I know about, Piper. If you want a better end to this story, you'll have to make one."
The little girl giggled. "Thanks for the story, Gwampa Tom."
Based on 'Pied Piper of Hamelin'.