Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two

by Bernard Evslin

  “I don’t know, Proteus.”

  “At least let me try. What are you risking? You can always catch me again and put me into your mortar.”

  “Very well, you have convinced me.”

  “Thank you, thank you.”

  “Now listen carefully,” said Athena. “I have recruited a very promising young witch called Circe. Are you acquainted with her?”

  “The sun god Helios has a daughter by that name,” said Proteus. “Very tall, flame-haired, willful, a dangerous beauty, in fact.”

  “That’s the one,” said Athena. “She is to be my chief agent in the struggle against Poseidon. I want you to go to the Isle of Sobs where Circe dwells and instruct her in the techniques of transformation.”

  “I shall do so, goddess.”

  “To accomplish her task, however, she will need two assistants, whom you will furnish. You must search the Ocean Stream for a pair of the strongest, swiftest, cleverest sea nymphs you can find. You will bring them along with you to the Isle of Sobs and train them to assist Circe in her performance of the dark arts.”

  “Very well, goddess.”

  “Are you sure you understand what I require?” asked Athena. “Any error or omission on your part I shall view as simple disobedience, and shall punish severely.”

  “As I understand it,” said Proteus, “I am to train Circe in the art of transformation. Find two sea nymphs and train them as well.”

  “Correct,” said Athena. “Succeed, and prosper. Fail, and suffer.”

  Athena was happy with the plot she was weaving. She planned to attack Poseidon at his most prideful point and turn his strength to weakness. For the sea god, like all gods, was nourished by worship. He spread terror upon the waters until those who traveled the sea, or farmed its waters or dwelt by its shores, had been taught to beg for mercy. Before embarking on a voyage, sailors would sacrifice to him, and pray for fair winds. Fishermen would pray for a rich harvest of fish, pirates, for plunder. And those who dwelt on the coast would beseech him to withhold his storms, or at least, strike somewhere else. Across the entire Middle Sea basin, Poseidon was the god most fervently worshiped.

  What Athena now planned was to set Circe and her nymphs astride the busiest sea-lane and have them wreck ships and enslave their crews. Whereupon, the goddess reasoned, seamen, finding their prayers unanswered, would withdraw their faith in Poseidon and sacrifice upon other altars. Thus, Athena would be making her enemy suffer in the only way that gods can suffer—by being diminished.

  As we know, Proteus had been thoroughly terrified by Athena; he was now obeying every one of her instructions. He combed the sea for the two strongest, swiftest, cleverest nereids. In the waters off the sickle-shaped island called Corfu, he found a pair of sisters named Teles and Ligiea. He invited them to the Isle of Sobs to assist Circe in her sorceries. At first, they refused. They relished the boisterous, free life of the ocean. They loved to follow fishing boats, capsize them, and swim off with the handsomest lads.

  As it happened, though, the fisher-folk had grown cautious of late; their boats hugged the shore, and the sea nymphs had been hunting in vain. When Proteus told them that Circe practiced a magic that could trap the wiliest crews, the nereids dropped their objections and agreed to join the sorceress on the Isle of Sobs.

  2

  The Isle of Sobs

  For the first month or so, all went well as Proteus taught Circe and the two nereids the arts of transformation. Circe was a natural sorceress, already adept at the basic spells and incantations, and she learned faster than Proteus could teach. The nymphs, although not so talented as Circe, were fascinated by magic, and very eager for instruction. Nevertheless, after a while, Proteus found himself growing quietly frantic.

  Although things seemed peaceable, he sensed a feud simmering between Circe and the nymphs. He knew that if the quarrel flared into open warfare, it would disrupt Athena’s plans, and he would be held responsible. The goddess, enraged, might very well pluck him off the island and pop him into her great stone mortar, pound him to a pulp with her stone pestle, then boil him into a potion. So he was desperate to patch up a truce.

  He knew that it was Circe who was mostly to blame in this matter. She was very proud, and fiendishly jealous—qualities which often go together. Although only a demigoddess, she considered herself as regal and potent as anyone in the Pantheon, and entitled to the same divine honors. This opinion was not shared by the nereids, who hadn’t a reverential bone in their supple bodies. They viewed her not as a goddess, but as an arrogant redheaded witch, full of insufferable pretensions.

  The more Proteus studied the situation, the more impossible it seemed. The root of the matter was that the sisters were simply too beautiful. Circe could not bear the sight of them. They were tall, powerful, blooming creatures, bursting with health, giving off a wild caramel musk of sea and sun. And although Circe was very handsome and stately herself, these glossy nymphs made her seem wan and haggard. She could not forgive them.

  Proteus decided that the only thing he could do was separate Circe from the nymphs. He saw an opportunity to do this, for by now they had learned what he had to teach, and were ready to go into action. He called them together, and said:

  “Our mistress, the goddess Athena, appeared to me last night, and gave me certain instructions which I shall now pass on to you.”

  “Why did she appear to you and not to me?” cried Circe. “I’ll accept no instructions secondhand!”

  “You’ll have to take that up with Athena herself,” said Proteus. “But be guided by me, dear lady, and do not provoke the goddess—not, at least, until you have practiced some magic on her behalf and showed her how valuable you can be.”

  “Very well,” gritted Circe. “What did she have to say?”

  “She recognizes that you have learned all that I have to teach about the arts of transformation, and are ready now to disrupt sea-traffic, wreck ships, and capture crews. But she wants you to divide your efforts. You, Teles and Ligiea, will be responsible for luring the ships onto the rocks, and, when the sailors have made their way to shore, you shall lead them to the palace, then return to the rocks. Circe will welcome the crews, enthrall them, transform them—and impound them in their stalls and kennels and sties. Any questions?”

  “How do we get the ships to wreck themselves?” asked Ligiea.

  “In a classic fashion,” said Proteus. “You will go to where the rocks are thickest and most jagged, and build fires there. Such fires are the most ancient signal for clear passage and safe harborage. The helmsmen will naturally steer toward your flames, and the ships will break upon the rocks. Now to your tasks, ladies! And may the blessings of Athena attend your labors.”

  They dispersed. The sea nymphs went down to the shore; Circe returned to her palace to prepare her spells and potions.

  What happened then made it seem as though Poseidon had somehow learned of the plot against him, and was wielding the weather to thwart it. Every night for the next month it rained, not steadily, but in sudden bursts. And these showers would fall right after the nymphs had built their fires, dousing the blaze completely, and wetting the firewood so thoroughly that it could not be used again until the next day’s sun had dried it. Proteus began to grow fearful once more. He knew that without occupation the sorceress would find a way to attack the nymphs, who would surely counterattack with great enthusiasm.

  He turned himself into a white seal and swam out to where the sisters perched on the rocks. He coasted onto their flat boulder and said:

  “It’s no use; we can’t keep the fires going; we’ll have to change tactics.”

  “Dear Proteus,” said Teles, stroking his head, “we’re not going to be here long enough to change any tactics.”

  “What do you mean?” barked the seal.

  “She means we have decided to leave,” said Ligiea. “We hate Circe. We love you, but we loathe her. And it’s very boring here. We’re going to swim back to our own waters and capsiz
e fishing boats again. That redheaded hag can go choke herself on her potions.”

  “You can’t go,” cried Proteus. “You’ve pledged yourselves to the service of Athena, and must fulfill your vow, or she will avenge herself. You don’t know her as I do. She’s terrible when aroused.”

  “And we’re terrible when not aroused,” said Teles. “We’re mouldering away here on this stupid island. Where are all the shipwrecked crews we were promised? We sit here building fires, and Poseidon rains on them, and Circe glares at us and mutters nasty things under her breath, and nothing happens, nothing at all.”

  “Listen to me,” said Proteus. “And things will happen. We’ll make them happen. That’s what I came here to say. You’ll no longer build these fires that only get snuffed out. You’ll lure ships another way.”

  “What way?”

  “You’ll sit here on the rocks and sing—Yes! So beautifully that anyone hearing you will be enchanted and follow the sounds right onto the rocks. So ravishing will be your song that even if the helmsman stays on course, the sailors will dive off the decks.”

  “Do you really think we’ll sound that good?” asked Teles. “We’ve always sung, but I had no idea that our voices were that irresistible.”

  “They aren’t,” said Proteus. “Not quite yet. But they will be. Your voices are very rich and musical—but somewhat raw. I will train them. I will teach you to pitch your song so that it can be heard over the keening of the wind and the booming of the surf—and to fit simple words to your melodies so that they speak right to the heart.”

  “You can do that too?” asked Ligiea. “We know you’re good at magic, but are you good at everything?”

  “Not quite everything. But music is only magic that has found its voice. Trust me; I can teach you. Singing here upon these rocks, your song will be a silver noose that will catch anyone listening, that will draw them to you, and make them yours for as long as you care to keep them.”

  Indeed, Proteus did teach the sisters to sing. And their song was as enchanting as he had promised. Ship after ship broke upon the rocks. And when a helmsman refused to forget his duty and steered away, why then the sailors dived off the deck, as Proteus had predicted, and swam toward where the sea nymphs perched.

  Teles and Ligiea, very happy with their own singing, followed the rest of Proteus’s instructions. They led the sailors to the palace, where Circe then took charge. She would take her guests to a great dining hall, and serve them a bowlful of delicious red porridge, cooked according to a magic recipe. The sailors would gulp the food down greedily and immediately find themselves transformed. Whereupon the nymphs would never see the men again. Never, that is, in human form. For Circe’s evil spell had changed them all into animals. Her courtyard became a zoo. Lions roamed there—wolves, elephants, wild bulls, deer, rabbits. Snakes dwelt in the grass. Trees and hedges were thronged with new birds. The kennels were full of howling dogs, the sties full of pigs; a herd of horses grazed the meadow.

  Now, the nymphs, though very fond of animals, hated to see these beasts who had been men. For each of them, no matter what his shape, would gaze at the nereids with intelligent, suffering, human eyes.

  Nevertheless, things went well for a while. And Athena, looking down upon the Isle of Sobs, was pleased by what she saw. She praised Proteus for serving her so well. She appeared to Circe as well, and promised that she would reward her services by making her the most powerful sorceress in all the world.

  Proteus, feeling that his labors were completed, swam away from the island. He was weary of Circe and the fatal rocks and of seeing man transformed to beast. He resolved to live another kind of life for a while. So he changed himself into a bear, and, since the weather was growing cold, found a cave, and sank into a deep sleep.

  As soon as he left the island, however, things went badly.

  It happened one day that two shipwrecked crewmen quietly turned back while being led to Circe’s palace, and returned to where they had come ashore. The sisters, who did not notice this, were surprised when they found sailors waiting for them upon their rock.

  “You’re in the wrong place!” cried Teles. “You should be with the others at the palace.”

  “No,” said one sailor, whose name was Pero. “We’re in the right place. We want to be here with you.”

  “You can’t,” said Ligiea. “It’s not allowed. We’ll have to take you to the palace.”

  “No,” said the second sailor, whose name was Procles.

  “Yes,” said Teles. “Come on now, or we’ll have to carry you.”

  “Please,” said Pero. “Let us stay. Sit down and sing to us.”

  “Please,” said Procles. “Do sing to us. Sing song after song. We love your voices. In fact, we love everything about you. And when you finish singing, we’ll tell you stories. We’ve sailed to very strange places and have curious tales to tell.”

  As the moon climbed and paled, the sea nymphs sang their songs to the shipwrecked sailors. And, when the songs were finished, the sailors told a tale of voyages.

  They had sailed to certain southern lands where the customs were different from those they had known. Trees were shaped like parasols, their fruit brown, and hairy, and as heavy as rocks. The people of this land thought that cats and monkeys were gods who had warred with more powerful gods and been shrunken into bestial shapes. But they were gods, nevertheless, and had to be worshiped.

  By the time the tale was told the sailors were falling asleep. The nymphs watched them doze, and conversed in urgent whispers.

  “Circe will find out,” said Ligiea, “and send her servants to hunt them down. She’ll go into a fit of fury when she realizes we’ve been hiding them. And you know what happens to anyone she takes a dislike to. She’ll change these men into little animals and feed them to something big.”

  “What shall we do?” asked Teles.

  “Look at them; they’re fast asleep now. So tired, poor darlings. Circe must be asleep too. We’ll take them back to the palace, right to the witching room, and do a little magic ourselves. We’ll be the ones who transform them. Then they’ll be able to hide themselves among the other animals. And, one day, when we find a way to get rid of the wicked Circe, we’ll change the poor dear creatures back into themselves, and swim away with them.”

  “I suppose it’s the only thing we can do,” said Teles. “But it’s almost dawn, so let’s do it.”

  Tenderly, they lifted the sleeping lads from the rock, and carried them toward the palace.

  All was still. Everyone was asleep. Even the dogs had stopped howling. They crossed the courtyard past the huge shadowy shapes of the animals. Earlier, a hundred eyes would have been burning holes in the darkness, but now the eyes were shuttered as the beasts twitched and moaned, clawing at the walls of a changeling dream.

  Had the nymphs looked higher, however, up into the top branches of a cedar, they would have seen one pair of blazing eyes. They belonged to the owl—Athena’s own special bird, which she had given to Circe as a sleepless sentinel. The owl watched the sea nymphs carrying the boys through the courtyard and toward the palace gate. She spread her great wings and slid silently into the air. By a cruel twist of fate, the sisters did not notice the owl, and had no way of realizing that they had been observed by Circe’s spy-bird.

  The nymphs entered the dark palace and made their way to the witching room. They stretched the boys on slabs of stone and began muttering the spells that Proteus had taught them. Remembering the tale they had been told, they changed Procles into a monkey, and Pero into a cat.

  The monkey perched on Ligiea’s shoulder. Teles had drawn the tomcat into her lap, and was stroking him when a horrid scream split the air, and Circe appeared before them. She was pointing a wand at them; it trembled in her hand. Her voice was so choked with rage that she could hardly utter her spell, but she managed to mumble:

  Hobble, gobble,

  I tell you that

  with these words

  You shall
be birds,

  and feed the cat!

  Indeed, she did intend to change the sisters into birds and feed them to the cat. But in her fury, she mishandled the powerful spell and made the mistake of beginning the transformation by giving the sisters wings. The quick-witted nereids immediately spread their new wings, flew straight at Circe, knocking her to the floor, then flew out of the room, out of the palace, off the island, and out to sea.

  3

  The Sirens Sing

  Between the small island where Circe dwelt and the enormous island which is today known as Sicily, lay a hidden reef that could tear the bottom out of any ship that tried to sail over it. But the reef was easy to avoid because two tall flat-topped rocks stood to the northeast of it. They were a distinctive formation that could be seen for miles; when they came into view, a helmsman would simply steer to the north or to the south of the reef.

  It was upon these rocks that Teles and Ligiea landed after escaping from the Isle of Sobs. They were drunk with flight, happy to have been given wings—full of glee because what had been meant as a punishment had turned into a gift. On the other hand, they felt very confused. They were changed inwardly as well as outwardly, and no longer recognized themselves. Most curious of all, they were torn by new hungers. And, in satisfying these hungers, were doing things they found repulsive.

  For nereids do not eat the flesh of beast or fish or fowl. Like swans they feed upon algae and seaweed and other succulent mosses. Now, however, they found themselves as savagely rapacious as sea-hawks. On their flight they had skimmed the surface of the water, catching fish in their new talons and gobbling them raw. Flying high, they had stooped to strike birds on the wing—heron, cormorant, and albatross—and had devoured them, feathers and all.

  But the sisters had been only partially transformed, and the falcon in them was warring with the loving, joyous sea-nymph nature that had once been theirs. For all that, they were too young and healthy, too intoxicated by flight to brood about themselves. There was one concern though that they could not shake off. As they grew accustomed to the wild, fear-spiced taste of raw flesh and to the warm saltiness of fresh blood, they realized that if they became hungry enough they might be tempted to make a meal of a nice plump sailor.