Trying War

by S. D. Gentill

  The Herdsmen had all heard tales of the half-man half-bull who ate human flesh in the dark depths of the Labyrinth designed to be its prison.

  “So how exactly did you kill it, my Lord?” Lycon asked.

  “Why, I severed its head. Have you not heard the story? I thought everybody had heard of Theseus and the Minotaur.”

  “We know of the Minotaur, my Lord,” Lycon said innocently. “And we heard rumours of its demise… we thought it must have fallen ill.”

  “Ill?” Theseus was outraged. “The creature was in rude health when I killed it, and in doing so saved the lives of my countrymen. It had the strength of ten men, and was three, no, five times as tall…”

  Machaon glanced at Lycon knowing full well that the youngest son of Agelaus was taunting Theseus with his feigned ignorance. The Greeks had always been particularly attached to ideas of personal fame and glory. Clearly the deposed king of Athens was no exception.

  Theseus was now well into an oration of his own splendour, fuelled by bowl after bowl of mellow wine. “Of course, most men would have quailed when faced with a creature so vile, but not I. With a swing of my blade I relieved it of its head…”

  “How did you reach it?” Lycon asked.

  “What?”

  “It being such a tall creature, my Lord… How did you reach its head?”

  Theseus glared at him. “Well, it wasn’t standing.”

  “Why not?”

  Theseus leant over and poked Lycon in the chest. His voice was a little slurred. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, boy, but it was not already dead. Theseus is the slayer of the Minotaur.”

  “Of course, my Lord,” Lycon said solemnly as Cadmus coughed.

  A faint and wicked smile played on Lycon’s lips. “Tell me, my Lord, did you take the Minotaur’s head out of the Labyrinth?”

  “Indeed I did.” Theseus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How else would the world have known that Theseus slayed the Minotaur?”

  “So you emerged from the Labyrinth with the head of a bull?”

  Theseus put his bowl down hard. “It was not the head of a bull, but that of a monster!”

  “Of course, it just looked like the head of a bull.”

  “Exactly!” The Athenian hero slammed the broad wooden table with his palm.

  “It is a fortunate thing, my Lord, that you were able to attest that this head had been attached to a man’s body—lest doubting men thought you had merely slain some poor animal who had wandered into the Labyrinth.”

  “Ly…” Machaon warned, nudging his brother.

  Theseus frowned as he considered Lycon’s words through the dulling effects of the dark Skyrothian wine.

  “I think we’ve heard enough of your exploits, Theseus my friend,” Lycomedes interrupted tersely. “If you had spent less time chasing monsters you might still have a kingdom.”

  “It wasn’t the monsters that angered my people.” Theseus sighed heavily and wiped the wine from his upper lip. “It was the women… In love, I have been unfortunate.”

  If truth were told, the sons of Agelaus had lost interest in the Athenian hero, but Theseus had now warmed to both his subject and his audience. He put an arm around Cadmus’ shoulders and confided, “My choices were not always the best.”

  “Indeed, my Lord.” Cadmus grimaced. The wine had fermented unpleasantly on Theseus’ breath.

  “Of course there were many maidens who cast their eyes in my direction, but Aphrodite would not grant me an untroubled love.” Theseus raised his bowl and drank to the goddess of love in the hope that he would be more fortunate in the future.

  “At first, my folly was in desiring women who were young and too jealously guarded.” He looked thoughtfully at Hero, smiling and raising his brows a little. Hero coloured and fixed her gaze determinedly away.

  Theseus stabbed at a joint of meat. “Inevitably they’d be rescued by overprotective brothers or other relatives who would wreak havoc in revenge.”

  Lycon glanced up sharply but held his counsel.

  “And then of course there were the Amazons.” Theseus shook his head. “Carnage.”

  “You went to war against the Amazons, my Lord?” Machaon asked cautiously.

  “Gods no! I married one… that also ended badly.”

  Lycon stole a glance at his brothers. The sons of Agelaus were all equally sceptical. “I did not know the Amazons married.”

  Theseus shrugged. “Not ordinary men perhaps, but I was the King of Athens, slayer of the Minotaur, the man who captured the bull of Marathon…” Theseus continued to list his exploits, pausing only to drink to himself.

  “What happened to her?” Cadmus asked to distract the Greek from the inebriated recitation of his own heroism. “Your Amazonian queen.”

  “Antiope? Ill-tempered shrew got a bit upset when I married again… tried to kill the wedding guests. I was forced to slay her.” Theseus exhaled in exasperation. “I had hoped we could be friends but she was quite irrational about the whole thing.”

  Lycon squeezed Hero’s hand as he heard her sharp intake of breath. “Hero…” he started.

  “Do you not think, my Lord, that it was a poor way to treat a woman whom you had stolen from her kin and her kingdom to be your wife?” Hero’s eyes flashed, her cheeks were flushed.

  Strangely, Theseus seemed gratified by her outburst. “You’ve heard the story then?” He shook his head, smiling. “It never ceases to amaze me how much of my life is legend…”

  “Antiope was Queen of the Amazons,” Hero said hotly. “Her womb had been dedicated to Artemis, the maiden goddess, and you defiled that when you made her your wife. Why then, does it surprise you, my Lord, that she would take offence when she discovered your undeniable passion to be inconstant?”

  The sons of Agelaus glanced at their sister, surprised by her defence of the Amazons and her knowledge of Antiope.

  “The girl is right!” Lycomedes said loudly, reluctantly taking his gaze from Medea. “You have only yourself to blame for the vengeance the Amazons inflicted on Athens. As I have told you before, my friend, not every hero is fit to rule.”

  Theseus reared, suddenly affronted. “The blood that pumps through this heart—” He pounded his chest and then paused to cough and wheeze. “The blood that pulses in my veins is royal, the blood of kings and gods. The immortals have not forgotten me and they will grant me a kingdom in time!” He stood and stormed angrily from the dining hall.

  Lycomedes looked after him, frowning thoughtfully. “You must forgive Theseus,” he said. “He longs for a past that is no more.”

  “Desiring what is gone is a dangerous thing,” Medea said, placing her hand gently on the king’s arm. “It can make a man covet what is not his.”

  The face of Lycomedes darkened further.

  “We must thank you for your hospitality, my Lord,” Machaon said, diverting the conversation. “Tomorrow we shall resume our journey.”

  Lycomedes regarded him with genuine regret. “But surely I can persuade you to stay some time yet. You are men blessed with the endurance of youth and strength of mind and body. Surely your women would welcome solid ground and soft beds for some time longer.”

  “You are kind to consider our comfort, my Lord,” Oenone replied, “but our business in Attica is urgent—”

  “But not so desperate we cannot linger a day or two.” Medea looked at Lycomedes as she spoke, her hand still rested on his arm. “I have done my best to heal Machaon, but rest on unmoving ground would be best.”

  “I am well, my Lady, we can sail tomorrow,” Machaon said, regarding the Princess of Kolchis suspiciously.

  Medea smiled sweetly at him. “How brave you are, Machaon… but I think we should stay a short while longer. I have decided.” She looked back to Lycomedes.

  “You’ve what?” Cadmus said, bristling.

  “Your mistress has decided,” Lycomedes said, pleased. “You are lucky indeed that she is so considerate of your wellbeing. She is as
good-hearted as she is beautiful.”

  Theseus was given Phaedra, daughter of Minos, in marriage. The Amazon, to whom he had been previously married, appeared at the wedding with her people, and threatened to kill the assembled guests. Hastily they closed the doors and killed her instead. Some say that it was Theseus himself who slew her.

  Apollodorus, The Library

  BOOK XVI

  THE SONS OF AGELAUS KEPT Hero with them again that night, unwilling to leave her with Medea, even in Oenone’s company. Medea seemed to find their distrust amusing. Oenone said nothing.

  For her part, Hero was glad. Medea frightened her.

  Cadmus simmered. “Since when is Medea deciding when and where we go?” he demanded irritably when the children of Agelaus were alone.

  “I suspect she has been deciding that since before we fled Kolchis,” Machaon muttered. He was no happier than Cadmus at Medea’s sudden assumption of dominion over them.

  “What do you think she wants?” Lycon asked. He was certain now that Medea had summoned the Erinyes to torment Machaon; that she had orchestrated everything which had led them here.

  Cadmus shook his head. “Who knows?” He paced about the room, agitated. “Perhaps we should leave her here—let her seduce the king of Skyros if she must. I’m sure Lycomedes can rally enough wedding guests without our presence.”

  “No.” Hero was fearful. “What if she revokes the spell that hides Mac? The Erinyes will kill him if they find him again.”

  “I don’t know that she can revoke it, Hero,” Machaon said quietly. “She seemed as surprised as we were about the outcome of her incantation.”

  “Are you willing to take that risk?” Hero asked in reply. “Let’s not make her angry.”

  Machaon looked to his brothers and shrugged. “Two days, then.” He turned back to Hero, thinking suddenly of her challenge of Theseus. “What do you know of Theseus’ marriage, Hero? The one to the Amazon?”

  Hero’s eyes glittered angrily again. “Antiope was queen before Pentheselia,” she replied. “She was our mother’s sister, Mac.”

  “And she married Theseus?”

  “She was his prisoner first. Antiope was not just queen but a priestess of Artemis, a sacred maiden. But Theseus cared nothing for that when he decided to take her!”

  Machaon nodded slowly. Antiope was not the first queen to be taken against her will. Women had long been spoils of war and royal women particularly so. The kings of Greece had always destroyed their enemies thus.

  “You stay with us, Hero,” Lycon said quietly. “Theseus does not realise he’s an old man.”

  THE HORIZON BURNED AS Eos raised her flaming palms into the velvet darkness of the clouds. The sons of Agelaus and the she-wolf, Lupa, watched from the parapet outside the luxurious room in which they’d slept. Hero lay unmoving between soft blankets on a downy mattress, within sight and protected. Through most of the dark night, she had lain awake praying. She had tried to do so quietly but on occasion her religious fervour grew in volume and she called to her gods with audible pleas.

  Cadmus had twice threatened to smother her and Lycon suggested returning her to the Amazons, but on the whole Hero’s brothers had endured the noise of her piety with relatively good humour. Hero was not willing to leave the salvation of Machaon to the witchcraft of a priestess of Hecate, determined to call her own gods to his aid.

  “She’ll warn them we’re coming,” Cadmus grumbled. “We’ll lose the element of surprise.”

  Machaon laughed. “Did you hope to startle the gods into helping me?”

  Cadmus chuckled. “No, I guess not.” He studied his elder brother’s face. “How are you feeling, Mac? Did the Erinyes find you in the night… or couldn’t you hear them over Hero’s ranting?”

  The rising sun caught in Machaon’s eyes and for a moment they glinted gold. But the smile was Machaon’s. “I didn’t see them, Cad.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they will never find me, maybe we need not seek the gods in Attica.”

  “Medea said they would find you eventually,” Lycon said, shaking his head. “We’d better find the gods before they do.”

  “Why do you suppose the Pantheon is gathering in Attica?” Cadmus mused, leaning against a column as he looked out towards the sea.

  “Who knows why the gods do anything,” Machaon muttered. “They’re all a bit strange, even Pan has his moments.”

  Lycon whistled low. “Look at that,” he said, nodding towards the cliffs which loomed all around the palace of Lycomedes. Silhouetted against the rosy fire of the sunrise were two figures in embrace. The Herdsmen’s eyes were sharp, accustomed to distance and shadow and so they recognised Medea in the arms of their host, Lycomedes.

  “What is she up to?” Cadmus murmured.

  “I’d say she’s seducing a king,” Machaon replied as they watched the pair.

  “He’s so old.” Cadmus was disgusted.

  “Doesn’t seem to matter if you have a kingdom,” Lycon observed. “Still, it’s not a very big kingdom…”

  “Medea may never want to leave Skyros,” Machaon said thoughtfully.

  “Then we’ll leave her.” Lycon was not perturbed. “We do not need Medea to find the gods.”

  “Yes, we have Hero,” Cadmus agreed. “Surely the Pantheon will recognise her—she’s been haranguing them for years.”

  “They probably think she’s an Erinye.” Lycon sighed.

  AT LYCOMEDES’ REQUEST, THE Herdsmen oversaw the movement of the king’s herd to pastures in the hills behind the palace. The sons of Agelaus suspected the Lord of Skyros wished to entertain Medea without the presence of the men who had accompanied her to his island. He was not to know that they were neither desirous nor jealous of her attentions. Still, the Herdsmen were not unhappy to be released from the formality and frivolity of court life to accompany the Skyrothian shepherds as they moved the fat cattle to the abundant pastures on higher ground. They were, after all, Herdsmen. The care of beasts was in their blood, the work of their people.

  Lupa disappeared into the hills, where she watched her brood from a distance, away from the lesser shepherds who would fear her as a predator.

  The Herdsmen took Hero with them, for Theseus had reacted to their host’s preoccupation with Medea by turning his eye to the young daughter of Agelaus.

  “We are kings, Lycomedes,” he’d boomed as he flung an arm around the other’s shoulders. “Surely we can claim women still resplendent in the bloom of youth.”

  Hero’s brothers had recognised the competitive determination in the Athenian’s sudden interest. If Lycomedes was going to woo Medea, then Theseus would select someone younger still. And so they took Hero, deciding it would be easier than having to kill Theseus later.

  They tried also to take Oenone, but the nymph refused. “It is better that someone watch the Princess of Kolchis,” she said and would not be moved.

  Hero rode with Cadmus, for the cattle of Skyros were belligerent, flighty creatures who charged and ran for little reason. She could ride well, of course, but they did not trust that she would see danger when it arose.

  The cattlemen of Skyros were welcoming. They had heard of how these strangers had tamed the rampant white bull and so regarded them with good-natured curiosity. The sons of Agelaus attempted to share their skill but, though the Skyrothians were no more fearful than most men, it took a particular courage to handle beasts as did the Herdsmen of Ida. Instead the Skyrothians watched in awe as the sons of Agelaus wrestled young bulls with their bare hands and dominated the fiercest animals with the strength in their gaze. Cadmus tried to teach them to ride the beasts but the only man willing to try was soon unseated.

  Machaon remained untormented by the avenging sisters, but for a vague sense that they were searching for him. He was also aware that his brothers watched him carefully, and he was glad of it. The rage that had consumed him when he’d attacked Medea unnerved him—he had been just moments from snapping the witch’s neck and yet he had not wanted to do it. The
Herdsmen had always been kin to the wolves, but now there was truly a beast within him… he did not trust it, or himself to control it. Still, he was glad to be free of the horror and pain of the past days, if only for a time.

  Although the pastures were not that far from the palace of Lycomedes, they stayed one night with the Skyrothian cattlemen, sleeping beneath the stars as they had often done when they tended their own flocks and herds on Ida. Lycon pointed out the constellations when they became visible through the passing clouds, and cast stories into the night sky as he lay by the glowing embers of their fire. Hero applied the salve Oenone had given them to the healing wounds on Machaon’s back and shoulders while Cadmus played dice with the Skyrothians. Occasionally they would catch a glimpse of yellow eyes from the woodlands and know that Lupa still watched.

  It was deep into the night when something disturbed the herds. Cracks split the air, like whips. For a moment Machaon wondered if the Erinyes had returned, until he heard the startled, frightened lowing. Then the erratic pounding of hooves as the beasts began to run.

  The Herdsmen were on their feet immediately. Machaon took Hero’s hand, for the clouds had cloaked the moon and she was blind. Already they could feel the rumble of the earth as the herd charged, the rise of dust and the smell of panic. Cadmus shouted to the Skyrothians as they all scrambled in the darkness for their steeds.

  “Hero’s with me,” Machaon called to his brothers for even the clear-eyed sons of Agelaus could barely see in the dark, amid dust and confusion.

  For a brief moment they thought the herd was running into the camp but soon they recognised the gait of horses under rein, saw the shadows of riders on their backs.

  “What in Hades…?” Lycon began as he drew his sword, realising now that they were under attack.

  Hero wrapped her arms about Machaon’s waist and clung tightly. Had the Amazons found them?

  “These are men,” Machaon said, sensing her terror. “Just men.” He too unsheathed his sword. Riding into battle with Hero behind him was not ideal, but he had little choice. There was nowhere to hide her, even if he were willing to leave her alone.