Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two

by Bernard Evslin

  6

  Shady

  Theseus let Melissa amble along at her own pace. He was in no hurry now to witness another bandit at his bloody work. Sure enough, though, before the day was over he was hailed by a tall, lean man wearing a bearskin cape and leading a long file of men and pack animals loaded with bales.

  Theseus didn’t particularly like the look of this unsmiling fellow, but he obeyed his conscience and attempted to warn him. “Sir,” he said, “I’ll go with you if you insist on crossing the mountain, but I advise against it. It will be safer to go around and bypass the bandit altogether.”

  The merchant looked down from his tall horse and shook his head gravely. “Nothing is more costly than travel,” he said. “Wages for drovers and porters, food for slave and beast … my own time spent this way when I could be buying and selling; every extra day on the road eats into profits. And it will take an extra week to go around the mountain instead of over it.”

  “On the other hand, sir, profit profits you little if you’re dead,” said Theseus.

  “There’s nothing worse for commerce, my boy, than the gloomy view.”

  “I am optimistic by nature,” replied Theseus. “But I have seen two of the bandit brothers in action, and they have a way of darkening any view. And this third brother, I understand, is the worst of the lot. No traveler has ever survived his attentions.”

  “None of them had a plan,” said the stranger, “but I do. I had the wit to conceive it, and I have the courage to carry it out. In preparation I have recruited a strong company of guards, every one of them skilled at rock climbing and weapon handling, and I have rehearsed them thoroughly for what they must do this day.”

  “I see no company of guards.”

  “They have gone ahead and are taking their positions among the rocks, halfway down the cliff, and directly under where the bandit sits to have his feet washed.”

  “Then what?” said Theseus.

  “Then I shall lead the rest of the caravan along the road until the giant stops us and demands his usual toll. But I shall do more than wash his feet, lad. I shall attach a chain to his ankle and drop it down the cliff. My men below will seize the chain and pull him over the edge. Thirty strong men on the end of an unbreakable chain—over he’ll go! … And feed that turtle with his own larcenous carcass.”

  With the years, the bandit Shady had grown more luxurious in his habits and had made himself very comfortable on his perch. He no longer shaded himself with one oversized foot but every once in a while selected two slaves from a caravan—one to hold a parasol over his head, the other to fan him with a palmetto leaf. They did their work very earnestly; lazy slaves were fed to the turtle.

  By this time Theseus did not have to guide his donkey by pressure of hand or knee or even by voice; she seemed to read his mind and move to his thoughts. Now, as the caravan straggled toward Shady’s lair, she sidestepped off the path and climbed to a rise behind the natural stone shelf, where loomed the rock that was the bandit’s throne. There lolled the giant, attended by his slaves. A youth held a parasol over his head; a girl was fanning him with a palmetto leaf. They were full grown, but looked like children next to his great bulk.

  Shady himself looked more like a bear than a man, for he was covered by a thick brown pelt. His fur kept him hot no matter how keen the mountain wind, which is why he always insisted on being shaded and fanned. Slaves had occasionally frozen to death at their task, and the turtle had a cold meal that day.

  The caravan approached. Theseus watched the deadly ritual begin. Shady’s voice shattered the silence. “Halt!”

  The caravan stopped.

  “You there, in the fur cape, come here and pay the toll, which is to wash my feet. Your people can start unloading those bales.”

  Theseus watched as the merchant knelt before the bandit. He began to wash the giant’s feet, dipping a cloth into a basin. With the fur-cloaked shape crouched before the hulking bear-pelted one, it all seemed like a legend out of the most ancient days, when bear gods ruled over the earliest man.

  “Stand up,” roared the giant. “Why’re you clanking? What’s under your cloak?”

  “My most precious possession,” said the merchant. “A golden chain of enormous size and unbelievable value. Take everything else, but leave me this, I pray.”

  “Are you quite mad?” said Shady. “Why in the world would a legitimate bandit leave his victim anything worth having? Produce it, quickly!”

  The merchant had wrapped himself in the chain, whose links had been gilded to look like gold. He spun on his heel, unwinding the chain—then swiftly stooped and shackled one end of it to Shady’s ankle. He dropped the other end over the edge of the cliff and leaped out of the way crying, “Pull, men, pull!”

  Theseus heard the chain clanging against the rock as it fell, heard the shouting of the invisible men below. He saw Shady being pulled from his rock and begin sliding toward the edge as the chain grew taut. “I can’t believe it,” said Theseus to himself. “Is this clumsy trick really working? Will they really be able to pull the giant over the cliff?”

  Shady braced his legs, reached down for the chain, and snapped it like a thread. Keeping hold of one end, he began to pull. He hauled it up, hand over hand, kept pulling until he had drawn up the entire length. The men came up with it—still clinging to the other end of the chain. They had not dared let go for fear of falling into the sea.

  With a great laugh, Shady cast a loop of the chain about them. He swept the men up into his arms, holding them as a child holds an armful of dolls. He walked slowly toward the edge of the cliff and cast them over. Their screaming made a horrid chorus as they fell.

  The silence that followed was the most profound that Theseus had ever heard. It was as if the entire deep valley were holding its breath. The great hush was broken by Shady’s voice. He spoke to the merchant.

  “My feet are dirtier than ever, good sir. You’d better start washing.”

  The merchant stooped again and began to wash the giant’s feet, but he was trembling so much that he tipped over the basin, spilling the water. He was kicked off the cliff before he could refill the basin.

  Theseus and the donkey had climbed away by now and melted into the afternoon mist.

  The man-eating turtle dined so well that day that he burst his shell and was himself devoured by a nearby shark, which then took the turtle’s place under the cliff and happily fed upon those that Shady sent down.

  7

  The Inn

  Boy and donkey came to a level place along the mountain pass. They were halfway down the eastern slope, and the shadow of the mountain made an early dusk. Theseus passed through the gateway of a sagging fence and walked toward what looked like a house.

  He kicked something, stumbled, and recovered. Stumbled again. Slid. He was treading on a kind of slippery shale; it gleamed in the twilight. He stooped to look more closely.… It was not shale he was walking on but bones. The ground was littered with skulls, arm bones, leg bones, great pelvic baskets—whole bones, massive and shapely, and a rubble of broken bones.

  In the midst of this boneyard stood a wooden house, looking as though it had been pegged together, room by room, without design. He went to the portal and knocked. It was a lofty, wide door, but the man who appeared had to turn sideways to slide through. He wore a blood-spattered apron. His tangled gray beard was splotched and sticky.

  “Please,” said Theseus. “May I speak to the proprietor?”

  “You’re speaking to him,” growled the man.

  “Sir, I …”

  “Bloody work sometimes, running an inn. Not all dainty chambermaids and hot dinners, you know.”

  “It must be difficult, sir. And I have come to offer my services.”

  “Have you now? And where did you hear of me?”

  “All the civilized world has heard of the luxurious hostelry run by the gracious Procrustes.”

  “Are you jesting with me?”

  “You must k
now, sir, that you do not look like a man to be safely jested with, even by your peers—let alone someone my size, seeking employment.”

  “Again I ask, and for the last time, boy, why here?”

  “I want to learn the hotel business. I’m willing to start at the bottom.”

  “Oh, I’d start you even lower,” said Procrustes. “But you look too scrawny. It’s hard work, you know.”

  “I’m stronger than I look, sir.”

  “That’s still not saying much. Do you know what’ll happen if you don’t suit me?”

  “I’ll get fired, I guess.”

  “You’ll get fed to the pigs. That’s my policy with rejects. Pigs’ll eat anything.”

  “Sir, for the privilege of working in this prestigious establishment, I’m willing to adjust to any condition of employment.”

  “You’re a polite little bugger, I’ll give you that. No pay during the trial period, of course.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any, sir.”

  “Think you’re ready for some responsibility?”

  “I’d welcome it, sir.”

  “I’m going to put you on doom service.”

  “Doom service?”

  “It gets cold here at night, what with the holes in the wall and so forth. When a guest calls for a hot drink, you’ll bring him one. A terminal tiffin, you might say.”

  “Poison?”

  “Just a strong sleeping potion. After he’s asleep I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

  Procrustes took Theseus on a tour of the inn. The rooms were haphazardly floored; some with slabs of slate, others with splintered planks. The floor of the bedchamber was simply packed earth. The bed frame was a rectangular iron grid. The floor under it had been dug away so that the bed stood over a deep pit. Theseus gritted his teeth to suppress a shudder as he saw that the bed was hung with leather straps, chains, and shackles.

  “No mattress?” he asked.

  “It’d just get in the way,” said Procrustes.

  “Don’t the guests object?”

  “They have worse things to worry about.”

  “Why the hole in the floor?”

  “Don’t knock it, kiddo. That pit and the grid construction of the bed save a lot of labor. The blood drips right through the grid into the pit. Two wipes with a sponge, and we’re all cleaned up—ready for the next guest.”

  “Innovative …” murmured Theseus.

  “What I am is a benefactor,” said Procrustes. “If you want to know why, just listen. The chief difference between the gods and mankind is that the gods are satisfied with the way they are. Satisfied? Ecstatic! While people keep wanting to improve themselves. And what people want to change about themselves most is their size. Hardly a man or woman alive doesn’t want to be taller or shorter, fatter or thinner. Well, I can’t do much about weight, but I can help with height. This hostel offers not only food and shelter but the ultimate in cosmetic surgery. That bed of mine is one of the noblest products of an inventive and compassionate mind. On that bed, lad, the bed of Procrustes, the too-short guest is stretched, and the one too long is lopped. The bed, the bed, the Procrustean bed! … made to an ideal length, fitted with wholesome restraints, and tended by the boss himself, mind, a pioneer in the corrective possibilities of chain and ax.”

  “I can appreciate your contribution to the art of hostelry, and, of course, to humanity in general,” said Theseus. “It’s just a pity the client can’t stay on to enjoy his transformation.”

  “We can only do our best, my boy; it’s all one can ask of any man.… Now, go make a fire and set a kettle on the hob. We have two guests now in the front parlor, one short, one tall. So you’ll be able to see both phases of our operation.

  “I’ll do the tall one first,” continued Procrustes, “because stretching takes too much time and gets really loud, what with the stretchee screaming and moaning. It’s likely to scare the other guest off, even if we use the sleeping potion on him. He’ll try to run and I’ll have to take the time to catch him. That’s why we’ll do the tall one first. We’ll do him quick, just a head job, you know, which makes very little noise. Any questions?”

  Theseus shook his head mutely. He didn’t dare open his mouth; he felt his stomach turning over.

  “All you have to do is watch this time,” said Procrustes. “I want to see if you have the stomach for the work. Too many job candidates end up in the pigsty because they’re squeamish. So you just watch for now—and clean up afterward, of course. Well, maybe you can sharpen the ax.”

  8

  Evander

  On the next day, Theseus was sent to fetch firewood. He was past the boneyard and approaching a stand of trees, when he saw something move among the branches. He thought that it might be the bandit Bender coming to visit his father at the inn. A figure loomed before him, holding an enormous tree trunk as easily as if it were a log and sharpening its end with an ax.

  Theseus watched, fascinated, as the big fellow raised the trunk high above his head and drove its sharpened end into the earth. Then Theseus saw that he was beardless and could not be Bender. His face was smooth and rosy; he was very young, hardly more than a boy, though a very tall, powerful one.

  “What do you want?” the boy called.

  “I work here,” said Theseus.

  “Just start?”

  “Yes.”

  “Better quit while you have the chance.”

  “Thanks, but I must stay. What are you doing?”

  “Making a fence.”

  “For wild horses?”

  “For pigs. We’re moving the sty.”

  “Pretty big fence for pigs,” said Theseus.

  “You haven’t seen them, have you?”

  “No.”

  “Well … just hope you don’t get a close look. They’re not the kind other people keep; these are wild boars, strong as bulls and fierce as tigers. No ordinary fence’ll hold them.”

  “What do they eat?”

  “You mean who. Checked-out guests are what they’re fed, and staff members whose employment has been terminated.”

  “Then, these bones …?”

  “These bones are what’s left of those who have passed through inn and sty.”

  “Who are you?” asked Theseus.

  “I’m the boss’s grandson, little man, the son of Bender. You may have heard of him. He does a trick with trees and travelers.”

  “I saw him at work. I came down that road.”

  “Did you meet my uncles?”

  “I saw a man with a club.”

  “Yes, Basher.”

  “And another man with different-size feet, both very clean.”

  “Uncle Shady. So you’ve met my father, my two uncles, and, of course, my grandfather, the innkeeper—and now me.”

  “An impressive family,” murmured Theseus.

  “What brings you to this hellhole, little nitwit? Don’t you realize how soon you’ll be fed to the pigs? And you’ll hardly make a mouthful. You’ll be gone as quickly as an acorn. I don’t even think they’ll spit out your tiny little bones.”

  “If that’s the case,” replied Theseus, “it sounds very much as though I’ll need a friend.”

  “And what I don’t need is a friend who won’t last,” said the other. “It happened once before and made me very sad.”

  “Maybe I’ll last longer than you think. What’s in that big basket?”

  “You like to ask questions, don’t you?”

  “That’s what friends do. What’s in it?”

  “Different things at different times,” said the boy.

  “What’s in it now?”

  “It’s empty. Shall I put you in?”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll go mushrooming.”

  “Oh, I’d like that,” said Theseus. “But can’t I just walk along with you?”

  “My legs are too long. You couldn’t keep up.”
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  “What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Evander. What’s yours?”

  “Theseus.”

  “Jump in. I’ll keep the lid off so we can talk as we go.”

  The great meadow sloped down to a stand of pines. There, where the trees cast a dense, spicy shade, mushrooms grew.

  “These were the first fruits grown in the garden of earth,” Evander said. “The Great Darkness left a layer of rich, black soil under the top loam, and that’s what mushrooms need. They’re watered from underneath by demons who hate the light. Everybody knows that.”

  “I didn’t,” said Theseus.

  “You do now. There are hundreds of kinds of mushrooms, and they’re not all meant as food, not by any means. Most of them are sheer poison. And in between are the kind that make you do weird things.”

  “Like what?”

  “This white one with the orange dots makes you spin on one leg, and you can’t stop but go faster and faster when you try. This green one with the yellow ruffle makes you jump, and you can’t stop but go higher and higher when you try. Now this one, with brown shading into black, makes you stamp. And you can’t stop but stamp harder and harder as you try. And this little gray and black one makes you laugh. And you can’t stop, no matter how hard you try—not until you’re weak and gasping like a grounded fish.”

  “How do you know all this?” asked Theseus. “Have you tried them?”

  “I’ve watched cows and goats that’ve eaten them.”

  “And they jump and whirl and stamp and so forth?”

  “They do.”

  “I’d love to see that. Let’s find some cows or goats.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to go back to the inn soon. Look here.” Evander stooped and parted the grass. “These are good, these ugly little ones. You can eat them.”

  Theseus twisted his voice, making the mushroom say, “Don’t pick me.”

  In utter shock, Evander gasped, “Why not?”

  “Because it hurts. How would you like to be torn out of the ground because someone wants to eat you?”

  Evander was kneeling beside the mushroom. He swiveled to look back at Theseus with great glossy eyes, just like a startled cow. Theseus felt a great burble of laughter shuddering out of his chest. He laughed and laughed and couldn’t stop. Evander sprang to his feet, crying, “It’s you! It’s you! It’s you talking, not it!”