Part 3

This is the Garden of Pluto.

The Garden of Persephone, unattended, lies in waste.

The Garden of Pluto endures, tended by slaves who dream of emancipation - and labor eternally.

The Garden of Pluto endures - today, tomorrow, forever!

1. Beginning

"Demo, Listen!" Petulant anger was in her voice.

"He's chasing the chickens again! You really must do something about that dog. Hurry, now, before he catches one." His mother's usually calm mien had disappeared. She had raised a fine flock of chickens and was proud of every one. To her chagrin, Rough had acquired a taste for chickens.

"Rough, leave them be! Come here!"

The dog at first wagged its tail, then let it droop between its legs as it noted the tone of voice. Slowly it approached, its head hung low, expectant of punishment.

"Rough, I am the greatest hunter in the village. No, I am the greatest hunter in the whole of Greece. None but I can draw this bow. None but I can hit the mark, time after time. None can shoot an arrow for such a distance!"

His mother smiled. Only 17, yet with the assurance of youth, he boasted of his skill. Well might he do so. For years his bow and arrows had fed them well. Today he would foray in search of deer.

"And you! All you can hunt is chickens! Well, you are growing. Soon I'll take you with me on the hunt. And we'll hunt deer, and bear, and . . . Well, anyway, not chickens. You hear me, pup?" Demo rubbed its head with both hands, patted the animal.

Rough licked his palm, followed him into the house, tail wagging.

"Lucky for you, dog, that you didn't catch that rooster. He'd of flogged you good with his beak and spurs. Now, Demo, you watch him. I wont have my chickens killed by the likes of that mutt." Demo's mother growled in fake anger while surreptitiously feeding Rough some scraps.

A beautiful dog, with long light brown fur covering his body, except for a breast of pure white, his looks belied his name. A handsome head, intelligent eyes, and an attitude of careful interest placated his master and mistress.

Rough lay down quietly, gazing from one to the other.

"Yes, you are a skilled hunter. I will make ready to cook venison, for you never return empty-handed. You wont return empty handed, right?" She smiled.

She stood, stepped to his side, and hugged him for a moment. Her face mirrored pride as she felt his strong arms around her.

He had been a sickly child. But the Gods had been kind. With the help of a skilled nursemaid, with good food and work and play, he had recovered. Now a young man, tall and stalwart, tanned by the sun he displayed none of the weaknesses of yore. She was pleased.

His brown eyes, dark hair, and handsome visage were no less pleasant to her. Soon he would be looking for a mate from the village maidens. In her mind she had already made a selection. She glanced at him, smiled.

Her thoughts pursued for a moment that theme. I must invite Theresa to dine with us. Yes, they would make a handsome pair.

His face reddened at her compliment, and he laughed in pleasure.

"You shall not be disappointed, Mother."

"No, nor would I ever be. Ah, were your Father Celeus still living. How proud he would be!"

She filled his pouch with provender for the hunt. Cheese, and fruit, and warm bread she had baked that day. The smell of the warm bread and the sweet spread that coated it, the oranges, made all look eagerly to the meal ahead.

As she tended his meal, frying venison, he took more warm bread from the table, shared it with Rough, and grinned as his mother turned to catch them.

"Demophoon! Shame! Without even asking! Do you like it? Is it good?"

"Mother, your bread is better than another's cake. Isn't it Rough?"