By: Manal Rabiey
“I am the king who knew no bounds to his desire. I am the one who stood above thrones and declared: The earth is mine, the trees are mine, and no power in the heavens shall keep me from doing what I will.”
One misty morning, I lifted my gaze and spoke to my own heart:
“A palace of gold is not enough. I want a hall of feasting—grand, eternal, where rivers of wine shall flow, and meat shall blaze upon tables without end.”
They whispered warnings:
“My lord, there is a sacred tree, a tree to which the villages offer their vows. They say the spirit of Demeter dwells within it.”
I laughed—a laugh that shook the marble pillars:
“Demeter? The goddess of fields? Where is she now? Do I see her with my eyes? All I see is timber—strong wood that shall become the roof of my glory.”
I took an iron axe and strode with my men into the forest. Each step opened the appetite of my dreams. I saw the hall before me, endless, its walls glittering, its tables piled with roasted meats, its women pouring wine into cups that never empty.
Then I reached the tree. Ah, what a sight! A trunk like a column of light, its branches brushing the sky, garlands of flowers streaming like the braids of maidens. One of my men trembled and whispered:
“My king, do not do this! This tree is the house of the goddess. To strike it is to summon doom.”
I turned on him with scorn and roared:
“I am king! And curses dwell only in the hearts of cowards!”
The axe fell. The earth shuddered. From the tree bled a green sap—the very blood of the earth. And then I heard it—a voice that shattered the marrow in my bones, a voice rolling from the clouds:
“Erysichthon… Since you crave feasting, I give you hunger—hunger unending, a fire that shall devour you from within until you consume yourself.”
The voice vanished. I laughed! I thought it the babble of a storm wind. I did not know death had already seated itself at my table.
—
The Hunger
I sat to dine—and felt it: a blaze in my gut, a furnace roaring in my veins. Hunger? No—it was fire! I devoured loaves, then more, then heaps of flesh. I drank jars of wine in one breath, yet the blaze grew hotter!
I shrieked:
“Bring me more! More! I want all the food of this kingdom!”
They brought dishes, herds, fishes, mountains of grain—but nothing sufficed. I ate until the earth groaned beneath me. Yet the fire never slept.
I sold my gold, my lands—and then… oh, curse the skies!—I sold my daughter, my own flesh and blood, for a mound of bread. And still the hunger burned on.
My body withered. My bones rattled under my skin. I crouched like a beast upon the ground, tearing at my own hands with my teeth. I heard the crunch of bone as I gnawed my arms, the taste of blood running like wine upon my tongue—yet nothing, nothing quenched the fire.
And at the last, I lifted my gaze to the tree I had felled. It stood tall in my mind, mocking me like a god. I whispered, lips dripping crimson:
“You have won, Demeter… Yet I was a king—a king who never bent his knee, even as he devoured himself.”
Then silence. Only white bones gleaming in the dust—a lesson whispered by the wind.
