Fiction
4 min
Arachne's Masterpiece
Madeline C
It was my finest creation.
That is what I remember most about that day. Others focus on other things– the contest, the goddess– but my eyes were always and only on the art.
Though I was no ruler or warrior, my weaving had brought me glory. Travelers came from far and wide to marvel at my skill. Over the years I had made a fortune. But that day... that day, I made a masterpiece.
It began a day like any other. Another request from the village– Maia down the street was getting married, and wanted a suitable chiton woven for the occasion. Another request from somewhere farther– a prince wished for a tapestry commemorating his recent boar hunt. I began Maia's request first, because she had been kind to me in the hungry days before my art.
My fingers flew as I worked, shapes laid out according to my design. I did my best work in tapestry, but my largest market was in clothing, and I took pride in the fact that my villagers stood out like colorful jewels among plain-clothed foreigners.
An unfamiliar old woman came to the door. I was frustrated– by now all knew not to disturb the great Arachne at work, lest their commissions be consigned to the fire. But something about her caught my attention.
She asked me questions. "Who are you?"
As if anyone in this part of the world could not know! I was the great Arachne!
"You call yourself great?"
Of course. Look at this wedding dress I am making, look at the tapestries along my walls! The craftsmanship! I was an artist beyond compare.
"The goddess of crafts has truly blessed you, hasn't she?"
I was angry then, so angry that the force of it caught in my teeth. "The goddess Athena never granted me wealth or skill. I began with nothing, as all my creations do. Through them, I have achieved glory beyond that of any hero, or any god."
Then the "old woman" transformed in a burst of light. Athena stood before me in all her glory and furiously demanded a match. The goddess of craftsmanship's tapestry against a mortal's, with the winner determined by my own people.
I was afraid, of course. The gods were cruel and proud. I was more skilled– of course I was! But she was powerful, and I had offended her. By beginning this match, she had acknowledged me her competitor. How much worse if I truly proved to be greater? And a smaller, secret fear– what if I didn't? What if I couldn't?
So be it. I had never known the blessings of the crafty goddess, and I would not fear her curses. She thought she was so great, because she was a goddess and I was a mortal. She had never worked for her skill, never known struggle and pain. Athena and her family, playing with the lives of mortals...
My mind raced as quickly as my fingers, my loom clicking and clacking as I gathered colors into my masterwork. I knew now what my greatest design would be. It had been a pattern my entire life in the making.
Of course, she made her tapestry honoring the gods and their glory. The gods dethroning the Titans, the gods destroying Typhon, the gods destroying the giants... How utterly predictable. But as I examined the craftsmanship, I was forced to acknowledge the work of a master. Athena was a skilled opponent.
My turn.
She was horrified at my design, as was our audience. While her tapestry depicted the triumphs of the gods, mine showed their shame. Zeus's deceitful seduction of Callisto, Hades's abduction of Persephone... I had even included Medusa, the poor girl whose love for Poseidon had led to Athena's monstrous curse. With what could a mortal shake the pride of the gods? With a reminder of how far the gods could fall.
I knew I had won. Of course, I lost anyway. I had given everything to these people, but in the end, she was a goddess. They judged her the winner unanimously, untruthfully, fearfully. I knew I had beaten Athena, but more than that– the design, the shadows, the colors— I had outdone myself. I feared death only because it would deprive me of my art. Let the goddess strike me down– I had created a masterpiece. My glory would endure, as would her shame.
The gray-eyed goddess drove our audience from the room. "Foolish mortal," she said, "to think you could beat the gods at their own games."
I lifted my chin. "I won this contest."
But Athena shook her head. "Truly foolish," she muttered. "To insult so many gods in one tapestry... You may have won our contest, but you will not survive it. Any other Olympian will strike you down for your impiety."
"Not you?" I was shocked she had admitted defeat.
Athena sighed. "You know the story of Medusa. A girl and Poseidon, in my temple. I could not protect her from him, nor could I curse him directly, but I changed her so that no one would attempt the same again. I am not your equal in art, but I am not the monster you imagine. I helped Medusa avoid notice. I can help you."
"By... changing me? I would rather die than be unable to weave." I had shuddered more at stories of Medusa's sharp claws than her ghastly face.
"Fear not, Arachne," Athena said somewhat resentfully. "You are the greatest weaver."
Then I shrank to the ground, and my legs and eyes multiplied, and the goddess gave me my new title: the first spider.
I made a masterpiece that day. In days since, I have made others. I weave now in webs of shining silk. I no longer work with colors and a loom, but my eight legs are far more suitable tools for an artist.
I am not what I once was. But I am content.
This was an entry for a writing contest held in conjunction with Center for Fiction and The Decameron Project
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