Athena decided to give Arachne the benefit of a doubt.
The goddess pushed her way through the crowd and began to speak to Arachne as the young girl worked.
“You know, dearie,” said Old Lady Athena, “I may be old, but I’ve gained some wisdom with my age. Would you accept some advice?”
Arachne just grunted. She was busy with her weaving and didn’t want any words of wisdom, but she said nothing.
“You’re very talented,” Athena continued. “There’s absolutely no harm in gaining the praise of other humans. You’ve earned it! But I hope you’ve given the goddess Athena proper credit for your talent. She invented weaving, after all, and she grants talent to mortals like you.”
Arachne stopped weaving and glared at the old lady. “Nobody granted me anything, Grandma. Maybe your eyes have gone bad, but look at this tapestry. I made this. I don’t need to thank anyone else for my hard work!”
Athena tried to keep her cool. “You are proud. I see that. And rightly so. But you are dishonoring the goddess. If I were you, I would ask her forgiveness right now. I’m sure she would grant it to you. She is merciful to all who—”
“Get lost, Grandma!” Arachne snapped. “Save your advice for your daughters and stepdaughters. I don’t need it. If you love Athena so much, go tell her to come find me and we’ll see who owns the art of weaving!”
That was it.
Athena’s disguise burned away in burst of light. The goddess stood before the crowd, her shield and spear gleaming. “Athena has come,” she said. “And she accepts your challenge.”
Pro tip: If you’re a mortal and a goddess appears right next to you, and if you want to survive the next few minutes, the proper thing to do is to fall on your face and grovel.
The crowd did exactly that, but Arachne had guts. Of course she was terrified inside. Her face went pale, then flushed red, then turned pale again. But she managed to stand and glare at the goddess. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got, old lady!”
“Ooooo,” said the crowd.
“What I’ve got?” Athena shot back. “The little girl from Lydia’s going to show me how to weave? When I get through, this crowd’s going to be using your tapestries for toilet paper!”
“Burn!” said the crowd.
“Oh, yeah?” Arachne sneered. “Must’ve been dark inside your daddy’s head if you think you can weave better than me. Zeus probably swallowed your mama just to keep you from getting born and embarrassing yourself.”
“Snap!” the crowd yelled.
“Oh, yeah?” Athena growled. “Well, your mama…” The goddess took a deep breath. “You know what? That’s enough trash talk. It’s time to weave. One tapestry each. Winner gets bragging rights.”
“Uh-huh.” Arachne put her fists on his hips. “And who decides the winner. You?”
“Yes,” Athena said simply. “On the River Styx, I promise a fair judgment. Unless you’d like these mortals to decide between us.”
Arachne looked at the terrified mortals and realized she was in a hopeless situation. Obviously the mortals would decide for Athena no matter how good Arachne’s weaving was. They wouldn’t want to get zapped into ashes or turned into warthogs for angering the goddess. Arachne didn’t believe for a minute that Athena would be fair, but maybe gods really did have to keep their promises if they swore on the River Styx.
Arachne decided she had no choice, so she might as well go out in style. “Bring it on, Athena. You want to borrow my loom, or do you need a special one with training wheels?”
Athena clenched her teeth. “I’ve got my own loom. Thanks.”
The goddess snapped her fingers. A glowing loom appeared right next to Arachne’s. The goddess and the mortal both sat down and furiously began to work. The crowd chanted, “WEAVE! WEAVE!” and pumped their fists in the air.
The Lydians totally should have sold advertising and gotten corporate sponsors, because it would’ve been the highest-rated weaving smack-down in Ancient Greek television history.
As it turned out, Athena and Arachne’s trash talk continued—but in the language of tapestries. Athena wove a scene of the gods in all their glory, seated in the council hall of Mount Olympus, as if to say: We are the best. Don’t bother with the rest. She depicted the temples on the acropolis of Athens to show how wise mortals should honor the gods.
Then, for good measure, Athena wove little warnings into the cloth. If you looked closely, you could see all the different famous mortals who had dared to compare themselves to