Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two

by Bernard Evslin

  It was Hypnos that Poseidon sent for now, asking him to visit the slumbers of Theseus that night and instruct the boy through vision.

  3

  The Skull

  Some dreams, especially bad ones, seem to last [all night. Theseus was visited by such a nightmare. He had left home and was in a dark room, serving a drink to someone he couldn’t see. The cup was a skull. He couldn’t understand why the liquid didn’t slosh out of the eyeholes and through the mouth. Whoever was in the bed must have finished the drink, because Theseus was now carrying the empty skull out of the room. It was laughing. He threw it away, but it came back with other skulls. They circled his head like pigeons, cooing and chuckling.

  Theseus awoke, horrified. He ran down to the beach, wanting the salt wind to blow his dream away. Racing along the edge of the sea, he tripped on something. It was a skull. But this one didn’t frighten him. On Troezen’s stormy shore the bones of shipwrecked sailors were often found, stripped by the gulls and scoured by the tides. He picked up the skull.

  “Good morning,” it said.

  Theseus stood startled, staring into the eyeholes.

  “Do you know why you found me?” it said.

  “I dreamed of skulls all night,” Theseus replied.

  “I am here to tell you what the dream means.”

  “Please do.”

  “You are to leave your mother and go traveling.”

  “Yes …”

  “You are to take the mountain road to Athens. You will meet those who make that road the most dangerous in the world: three bandit brothers. They have long names but call themselves Basher, Bender, and Shady. You will observe them closely, but try not to let them see you. Finally, if you get that far, you will reach an inn kept by their father, Stretch, whose real name is Procrustes. He will put you to work.”

  “Why would I want to work for him?” asked Theseus.

  “You won’t, but you must. That job is your test, your apprenticeship. If you survive, you will be ready for a great task.”

  “Which is what?”

  “You will know when you’re ready to know.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t put me back where you found me,” said the skull. “Throw me into the sea. Throw me far.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A pleasant journey to you,” said the skull.

  “And to you, sir,” answered Theseus.

  He hurled the skull as far as he could. It hit the water and sank immediately.

  4

  Basher

  Because of the dangers of the mountain road, no one traveled it alone. Merchants joined forces, hiring the most stalwart porters and drovers they could find.

  Theseus wandered the marketplace at Troezen, seeking to attach himself to such a party. As a son of Poseidon, who had created the horse, Theseus had a magic touch with the shaggy, surefooted mountain ponies, and with donkeys. He intended to work his way as a groom. In the crowd he noticed a clever-looking man named Maktos, who was the father of one of his playfellows. He was leading a string of donkeys to market.

  Theseus helped him water the stock and asked him if he knew of any merchants who were about to travel the first leg of the mountain road—that stretch menaced by the bandit Basher.

  “Yes,” said the man. “Bowl-head’s going.”

  “Bowl-head? Why’s he called that?”

  “Because he wears a bowl on his head,” said Maktos. “Not really a bowl; it’s a helmet made by Daedalus himself—supposed to be able to turn any blade and ward off any blow.”

  Maktos went on to tell Theseus about how the merchant had boasted to everyone of this helmet, claiming that it was made of a metal not to be found on earth but that had fallen as a whitehot lump of ore out of the starry sky. The great Daedalus had come to examine it and had recognized that the chunk of star ore could be smelted into a metal harder than any ever used before. Transporting it to his smithy, he had worked it into weapons and a set of armor. This magnificent gear had been purchased by Minos, king of Crete, the richest man on earth. But Minos didn’t get it all. One helmet had been stolen by an enterprising apprentice and had found its way into the marketplace, where the merchant had bought it.

  “And now,” said Maktos, “He tells everyone he’s not afraid of Basher because the bandit’s brass club will simply shatter itself upon this wonderful helmet, confusing him so that he’ll be easily captured by the merchant’s guard.”

  “I’d like to travel with him. Do you think he’d take me on?” asked Theseus.

  “Come with me, lad, and you’ll meet him. I’m going to sell him some of these beasts.”

  The road from Troezen to Athens twisted its way among the cliffs of the Saronic range, which towered above the Saronic Sea. “Saronic” means “belonging to the dawn,” and mountains and sea had been given that name because they faced east. The sun rose straight out of the water, bathing rock and tide in bewildering light—silver and jade, amethyst and rose. It was perhaps the most beautiful road in all the lands of the Middle Sea basin and almost surely the most perilous.

  Theseus rode a donkey at the head of the caravan, which had come to a place where the road narrowed, twining around a cliff that leaned over the sea. To the right yawned a sheer drop; the sea looked like a tiny green froth far below. The lad permitted himself only one look, then took a sighting between the donkey’s ears and fastened his eyes on the road ahead. Behind him followed packhorses and donkeys laden with bales; no one else dared ride this part of the path. Merchants and guards, porters and servants, inched along on foot with desperate caution, keeping one hand against the cliff wall.

  The sun was climbing out of the sea, but Theseus at this point could have wished for less beauty; the jeweled waves dazzled him. His donkey seemed to darken into silhouette as it stepped along the ledge of rock that formed the path. Then, to the boy’s relief, the narrow lane began to slope, widening as it ran downhill.

  The donkey broke into a trot, as if it too were rejoicing. Then, suddenly, it braced its forelegs and brayed, its ears swinging forward. Theseus had to shut his eyes against the flash of golden light. Standing there in the path was a huge man, holding an enormous brass club.

  Theseus had been training his donkey as they went along, teaching it useful tricks. Now he tapped the side of its throbbing, silky neck, and the donkey bounded off the road like a hare and vanished into the underbrush with its rider. The bandit stared after them but did not pursue, for by now the others were coming around the bend.

  “Halt!” he roared. They froze.

  Theseus had hidden himself in the bushes. He saw Bowl-head settling his helmet more firmly on his brow as he strode toward the giant. The merchant came quite close to Basher, then looked up at him. Theseus heard him say, “You’re the famous Basher, no doubt?”

  “No doubt,” growled the giant.

  “Well, my man, you’ve picked the wrong caravan this time. I have twenty spearmen behind me here, and twenty spears will be lodged in your worthless carcass if you make one hostile move.”

  The giant was grinning. Theseus saw him lazily lifting his club. It became a blur of light as he smashed it down on the merchant’s head. The helmet proved to be everything its owner had claimed. The brass bludgeon didn’t even dent it. What did happen was totally unexpected. The glittering club hit the helmet with a clear bell-like sound, driving the merchant into the ground, driving him in so deeply that only the top of the helmet remained to be seen. It looked like a turtle stuck in the mud. Basher, still grinning, raised his big foot and stamped on the helmet, driving it completely out of sight, so that where the man had stood there was only a sunken place in the earth.

  Basher raised his club again and walked slowly toward the armed men. But they were there no longer. The sight of their master being hammered into the ground like a tent peg quenched any lingering spark of courage. With one accord, they turned tail and fled, outracing their horses.

  Theseus heard the giant let out a g
reat guffaw and saw him stoop and pick up an armful of moneybags, then stroll away. Theseus remounted his donkey and rode through the thicket, meaning to join the road at a higher point. Having seen Basher in action, he now wanted to observe the brother Bender. To do so, he had to climb to the crest, descend the western slope, cross a valley, and climb the next mountain in the range.

  Theseus was thinking hard as he rode, the reins slack in his hands, his eyes dreaming. But the beast seemed to know the way.

  5

  Bender

  Theseus traveled slowly along the mountain road, searching every side path as he went. He wanted to attach himself to another caravan before entering Bender’s territory. For two days, he saw no one, but was not lonesome. He had formed a taste for solitude unusual in one so young. And he found the donkey to be charming company. These animals are notoriously self-willed, and resist training. But his donkey, which was a female, or jenny, was clever and showed an appetite for learning that overcame her native stubbornness. She delighted Theseus, who proceeded to teach her many things—not circus tricks, but battle moves that are taught only to the best horses.

  He taught her to whirl away when attacked head-on and meet her foe with a murderous back kick, which is a donkey’s distinctive weapon. He taught her also to rise on her hind legs and use her forehooves as a boxer uses his fists. He didn’t know whether this would work but thought there was no reason not to try.

  So the boy sparred with the donkey, and she hee-hawed with pleasure as she moved on her hind legs, stepping about him daintily, striking with her forehooves. To protect himself, Theseus filled two bags with feathers and tied them over her forefeet like boxing gloves. And she had enough wit to strike carefully, so as not to injure him. When he freed her hooves and had her strike a tree with all her might, he was amazed at the power of those blows.

  Theseus thought hard about what to call her. Choosing the right name for so talented a beast was very important, and it wasn’t until he noticed that she had formed a peculiar habit that he decided on a name for her. She liked to put her muzzle into hollow trees and rummage around until she found a honeycomb, then crunch it blissfully, not minding at all if it was spiced with bees. So he named her Melissa, which means “honey” in Greek. The name was particularly fitting, he realized, because her hide was a tawny brown, like clover honey.

  By the end of the second day he had crossed the valley and was at the foot of another mountain. Up the slope wound the section of road ruled by the second bandit brother. It climbed, twisted, and ran through the pine grove put to such terrible use by Bender.

  Theseus dismounted. “I shall wait here for a caravan,” he said to himself. He unsaddled Melissa, who frisked into the meadow and began to graze. Theseus didn’t have long to wait. By mid-morning of the following day, he saw men and animals coming toward him, led by a plump little man riding a lean horse. The man dismounted carefully. He sauntered up to Theseus and said, “Greetings. Is that your animal in the meadow?”

  “Yes, sir, it is,” said Theseus.

  “How much do you want for her?”

  “She’s not for sale,” declared the boy.

  “Nonsense, everything is! How much do you want?”

  “Believe me, sir, you can’t buy her. But you can hire us both.”

  “What do you mean?” asked the little man.

  “You may need an extra pack beast to cross the mountain, but you will also need another drover, an expert one like me. For this road climbs to perilous heights and narrows to ledges where you must go single file. To negotiate the mountain safely, you will have need of all my skill.”

  “If your skills as drover and guide are equal to your skill as a bargainer, then indeed you are worth hiring,” replied the man. “But before you name too high a price, please realize that you need us as much as we need you—perhaps even more. For you cannot travel alone and hope to pass the fierce bandit named Bender. But in my company, under my protection, shielded by my unique strategy, you will get safely to the other side.”

  “I think we’ll be able to agree on a price, sir,” said Theseus. “I’m perhaps not so good a bargainer as you imagine. May I know your plan for outwitting the outlaw?”

  “First, what is your name and your condition?”

  “My name is Theseus, and my station in life has yet to be determined.”

  “A shrewd answer. He who derives everything from his parents will have less to leave his children. My name is Festus, merchant of Phalaros. I would tell you how rich I am, but I stay that way by always understating my wealth.”

  “I perceive you are a wise man, sir. And one likely to pay an honest wage. But I am eager to hear how you propose to preserve your wealth against the depredations of Bender.”

  “I have a slave from Egypt who was trained as an acrobat,” said Festus. “I shall change places with him; he shall be the merchant and I the slave. But his moneybags will hold only scrap metal, convincingly heavy and clinking like gold coins, while my actual treasure—diamonds and rubies—will be concealed about my person. Now this is what should happen. We’ll be stopped by Bender. The merchant will be told to drop his moneybags and come to the tree—from which, in due course, he will be launched. But, trained aerialist that he is, my man will turn a graceful arc in the air, land safely, and flee as fast as he can. Then, as the furious bandit pursues him, I shall simply vanish into the forest, hoping to be out of earshot by the time Bender catches the poor lout and starts doing things to him. I am very softhearted, you see, and tend to be upset by shrieks of agony.”

  “A truly original ruse,” said Theseus. “I am proud to serve so able a tactician—and one so compassionate.”

  During the journey, Theseus spent as much time with the slave as he could. The man was not only trained as an acrobat, but could walk a tightrope, juggle twelve apples and a melon, and do tricks with his voice. Without moving his lips he could make sounds come out of a tree stump, make a rock speak, a horse sing baritone. Theseus was especially fascinated by his ventriloquism. And the slave, flowering under the boy’s interest, spent hours teaching Theseus to throw his voice. The boy drank up these lessons. Soon he could make his voice come from unlikely places, though he hadn’t quite learned to do it without moving his lips, nor was he able to imitate other voices as his teacher could. Theseus became very fond of the talented slave and hoped fervently that the man would be able to escape the bandit’s wrath when the time came.

  After climbing for half a day, the caravan entered a pine grove. Theseus, riding now at the head of the column, kept watching for the second brother to appear. He saw the bandit’s handiwork everywhere. From the boughs of adjoining trees dangled half bodies. He realized what had happened. The bandit had bound the arms of a victim to one bent pine and his legs to another, so that when the trees sprang apart, the man was torn in two.

  Before the lad could digest the entire meaning of this horror, he saw a giant figure standing in the grove, bending a tall pine until its top brushed the ground.

  “One moment,” said the bandit. He spoke gently, but his voice was so big that it seemed to be rolling off the crags. “Come see this curious bird’s nest I’ve found. It’s worth a look.”

  The merchant in slave’s clothing shrank back among the beasts and bearers, while the richly clad slave walked slowly toward the tree.

  Having observed what had happened to Bowl-head for all his fancy plans, Theseus did not have much faith in the merchant’s strategy. But for the moment, it seemed to be working. The disguised slave had obeyed Bender’s command and was leaning over the bent tree. The huge man was holding the trunk in one hand, pressing it lower and lower. Theseus watched, forgetting to breathe. He wanted desperately to call out, to warn his friend away, but his voice strangled in his throat.

  He noted that the slave bowed lower as the tree sank, lower and lower, until he was leaning upon it. And when the bandit released the tree, allowing it to whip up with terrific force, the slave was not struck by the branch
es but traveled up with the tree and was hurled high in the air.

  As Festus had foretold, the man, trained as an acrobat, turned in the air, spread his cloak like bat wings, and slowed his fall. He landed on his feet and raced away. Theseus stole a glance back at Festus. The merchant’s face was red as a harvest moon as he tightened his mouth and hooded his eyes, trying to suppress his glee and to escape notice.

  But Theseus now heard greater laughter. Bender was gazing after the slave, guffawing and applauding. Theseus saw the blood drain from the face of Festus, leaving it pale and bloated. Reason enough for terror. When violence has begun, an enemy’s laughter is a dirge. Bender, it was clear, had not been deceived.

  Sure enough, the bandit turned, covered the ground in two long steps, seized Festus, and lifted him with one hand. He held him dangling. “Very clever,” he snarled. “But my father taught me the scent of gemstones. Diamonds I smell, and rubies galore!”

  He spun Festus in the air and held him by the ankles, shaking him like a dust cloth. Jewels rained out of his clothing and flashed on the grass. Bender kept shaking Festus until the last stone had dropped, then he whirled the poor wretch over his head and let go. The man flew through the air, over the trees, and down into the valley below, his screams fading as he fell.

  Theseus touched the donkey’s flanks with his heels. Melissa stepped quietly backward until she was among the pack animals. The screaming had stopped. Theseus heard only the snuffling of horses and the creak of harness. The donkey picked her way through the herd, then whirled into a gallop. Boy and beast vanished like blown leaves.