Percy Jackson's Greek Gods (Percy Jackson and the Olympians companion #5.5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,129

morning after, when they had splitting headaches and were stumbling into the woods to puke their guts out.

Still, the nymphs and satyrs were so impressed with Dionysus that they decided he really must be a god. His invention was just that amazing.

Maybe you’re thinking…Okay, it’s wine. Big deal. How does that rate making Dionysus a god? If I invented tuna salad, would I be a god, too?

But wine was a major breakthrough in beverage technology.

Sure, people drank water, but water could kill you. Especially in the cities, it was full of bacteria and other people’s garbage and…well, I’m not really going to go into it. Let’s just say that water was gross. Nobody had invented canned soda or even tea or coffee, so you were pretty much stuck with water or milk. Even with milk, you had to drink quickly before it spoiled, since there were no refrigerators.

Then Dionysus came along and invented wine. It didn’t go bad as long as you kept it bottled up. Sometimes it even tasted better if you let it sit for a few years. You could water it down so it wasn’t as strong, but the alcohol would still kill germs and stuff, so it was safer to drink than regular water. You could even adjust the taste to make it sweeter with honey, or vary the flavor by using different kinds of grapes.

Basically, it was the super-beverage of Ancient Greece.

Not only that, but if you drank a little, it would mellow you out. If you drank a lot, it would make you giddy and crazy. Some people even thought they had visions of the gods if they chugged enough wine. (Again: do not try this at home. You will not see the Greek gods. You may get a close-up view of your toilet as you are throwing up, but you will not see gods.)

Word spread quickly about the new drink. Nymphs and satyrs from Mount Nysa traveled the countryside, telling anyone who would listen about the awesomeness of wine and the god who made it, Dionysus. They set up tasting booths on the side of the road. They offered starter kits including a potted grapevine, an instruction manual for making a winepress, and access to a toll-free customer service hotline.

Dionysus became famous. Even regular mortals began to gather on Mount Nysa every night for the ultimate party. Sure, they drank too much and got wild, but it wasn’t just for fun. The followers of Dionysus considered themselves religious people. They called themselves the bacchae—the groupies of Bacchus—and partying was their way of going to church. They believed it brought them closer to all the gods, because Dionysus was destined to be the twelfth Olympian.

How did Dionysus feel about that?

A little nervous. He was still young and insecure. He wasn’t sure if he was truly a god or not. On the other hand, he was happy to see people enjoying his new beverage. By spreading the knowledge of wine, he figured he was doing something good for the world, which made him feel better about all the pain he’d been through—his mom dying before he was born, Hera driving his foster parents crazy, and of course, his best friend Ampelos dying in the woods.

Then one day his followers gathered around him and pitched an idea.

“We need to go mainstream!” explained one of the satyrs. “We should go to the nearest major city and get the king on our side. You can offer to become their patron god. They’ll build you a temple, and your fame will spread even faster!”

The nearest king was a dude named Lycurgus, who ran a seaside town at the base of Mount Nysa. The satyrs suggested they start there, to support local business and all.

Dionysus wasn’t sure he was ready for prime time, but his followers were enthusiastic. They wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“It’s a great idea!” they promised him.

As Dionysus soon found out, it was a terrible idea.

Lycurgus was all kinds of evil.

He enjoyed whipping helpless animals like dogs, horses, hamsters, and anything else that got in his way. In fact, he had a special whip made just for that purpose—ten feet of black leather braided with iron spikes and jagged pieces of glass.

If no hamsters happened to be around, he would whip his servants. Sometimes, just for fun, he would whip his subjects when they came into the throne room to petition him for stuff.

“My lord, OW! My neighbor killed my horse, and—OW! I’d like him to