Outlaws and brigands were commonplace in the wild lands outside cities, preying on unwary travelers. Despite our fearsome and well-equipped (well, in Theseus’s case at any rate) appearance, there were still only two of us. An easy target for villains and thieves.
As we walked, I asked Theseus about his past and the reason for his journey to Athens.
“I’m the grandson of the King of Troezen,” he replied. “I was raised by him and my mother, Princess Aethra. My mother told me I have two fathers. Poseidon is my immortal father but my mortal father is Aegeus, the King of Athens. He sent my mother and me away when I was a child, setting me a task to complete before I was ready to take my place at his side.”
So, it appeared that Theseus and I had several things in common. We were the sons of royalty and both believed our father to be Poseidon. The story wasn’t uncommon. Several heroes had divine as well as mortal parents. The knowledge comforted me. Theseus was perhaps my half-brother. I sensed the hand of the gods. It was not mere chance that we met. I voiced none of this, however, content to keep my origins a mystery for the moment. Even though Theseus appeared trustworthy enough, I wasn’t about to reveal the fact that I was a hunted man. I doubted whether Theseus would have wanted to share the road with such a notorious figure.
“What was your task?” I asked.
“King Aegeus left me certain items that would identify me as his heir when I was ready. He placed them under a huge boulder in a forest clearing not far from here. A few days ago, I finally managed to lift the boulder. Admittedly, I don’t have your great strength so I had to use cunning instead. Eventually, using a pulley and lever, I managed to pry the great stone loose.”
“What did you find?” I asked, intrigued.
“These sandals and the sword I bear,” he answered proudly. “They were my father’s and will mark me as his son.”
“So, it’s that easy then? You’ll just march into his palace at Athens and say ‘here I am. I’m your long lost son.’” It was beneath me to criticize, but I couldn’t help it. It did seem a little far-fetched. But then again, it wasn’t like my own plans were any less ambitious or ridiculous. It seemed like Theseus had put about as much thought and planning into his journey as I had. In all fairness, at least he was better equipped than I.
Theseus’s eyes narrowed. “Of course,” he said sharply.
I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. Clearly I had angered him. I was to learn that Theseus was many things and like all men, he had his flaws, the greatest amongst them pride. He was also quick to anger and stubborn as an ox, though he forgave readily. He was not the sharpest spear on the rack either when it came to scholarly pursuits. Despite having access to the same sort of education as I, he never took to it and was extremely sensitive about it. I learnt later that he could hardly read.
“What about you?” said Theseus, his anger gone as swiftly as it had arrived. “What brought you here?”
“A boat,” I replied.
Theseus laughed at that. Even I chuckled along.
“Well, you’re from one of the islands then. If I had to guess from your clothing, I’d say you hailed from the Cretan sea.”
It was a good guess. Theseus may not have been the most intelligent or well-schooled person I’d ever met, but he wasn’t stupid either.
“I’m from Thera,” I said, thinking quickly. “My father was a fisherman.”
Theseus raised his eyebrows. “Fishermen from Thera get to wrestle and train regularly then? Seems things are done differently where you are from. Do all fishermen from Thera wear great helms like the one you sport? I’ve heard fishing can be dangerous, but I didn’t think it was that dangerous.” He laughed again.
He knew I was lying, but I couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet at any rate. “My father found it in his net,” I lied. “As for wrestling, my brother was the village champion. He taught me everything I know.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. Androgeus had shown me a thing or two about wrestling.
Something compelled me to reveal more than was perhaps wise. I guess it was the feeling of camaraderie that made me open up.
“Like you, I have two fathers,” I said. “Poseidon is also my father.” I didn’t see the harm in telling him that. I certainly didn’t tell him I was from Crete. Besides, in those days, the gods were rather promiscuous when it came to socializing with mortals.
Theseus accepted that. It must have soothed his ego a little to know that he had been bested by an equal. To his credit, Theseus pried no further about my past, only my future.
“Why Athens?” he asked.
“Like you, I seek my destiny there. There are heroic deeds to accomplish. I hope to win fame and then return in honor to ask for the hand of the woman who has stolen my heart.”
“Ah,” said Theseus. “That I understand. Women are capable of making us do all sorts of things in the name of love. Believe me, I know.”
I didn’t doubt it for a second. With his looks, his experience with women was no doubt much greater than mine.
We journeyed on, finally making camp when it became too dark to see the road clearly. We moved into the trees next to the road and found a clearing. I collected some dry wood while Theseus used tinder and flint to strike a spark. Soon, we had a blazing fire and sat warming our hands in companionable silence. He shared what food he had from his satchel. He produced goat’s cheese, some bread, dried figs, and a little watered wine from a skin. I was grateful given that Theseus probably had little enough food for himself, let alone me. The thought had obviously occurred to him too.
“We’ll have to hunt,” he said. “The food I have will not last until we reach Athens.”
I nodded agreement. “Can you hunt?” I asked. I couldn’t. Even if I had a bow, I was a poor shot.
Luckily, Theseus said he could. He’d brought a sling with him and assured me that he was proficient with it. Except for his ability to hunt, Theseus, like me, had lived a rather sheltered life. His experience was mostly limited to palace life. Other than my recent journey and brief banishment from the palace, I had rarely spent extended periods of time in the wilderness. We weren’t exactly seasoned travelers. We were also a little foolish. More wary and wise adventurers would probably not have risked a fire. Not in the wild. Not in those days.
We may as well have put up a sign saying “easy pickings.”
Chapter 9
A sharp crack of a breaking twig alerted me to the fact that we were not alone. I roused myself and sat up. I have never been a deep sleeper, and I struggled to get comfortable on the hard ground when I was used to soft palace beds. Even my recent exposure to sleeping rough at the bottom of boats or on straw pallets had not changed that fact.
The fire had burnt down to glowing coals. It was very dark under the trees. I could only just make out the dark huddled shape of Theseus still asleep on the other side of the fire. I heard another crack, and my head twisted in that direction. We were definitely not alone. Something told me that it wasn’t an animal lurking amongst the trees.
I stood and looked around desperately for a weapon. Theseus’s sword was the obvious choice. I took a step in that direction, but I was too slow.
My suspicions were confirmed when four men suddenly stepped out of the shadows of the trees. Before I could shout a warning, two immediately jumped atop Theseus, pinning him to the ground. He thrashed around but groggy with sleep, was no match for his assailants.
The other two approached me warily, stepping closer to the fire. One, a large, powerfully built man dressed in clothing that had once been fine, carried a great club wrapped in bronze. The other one, smaller and clad in rags, was armed with a short bronze sword. Despite their superior numbers, they were hesitant. My great size was often intimidating. One tried to circle around behind me rather than face me, even though I was unarmed.
Their intention was clear and I was not about to be slaughtered like a goat. I darted forward and kicked hot coals into the f
ace of the outlaw in front of me, scorching my bare foot. He frantically dodged aside, but that was merely a ruse. My goal was one of the stout branches stacked near the fire. I grabbed it. It was a large limb, not too dissimilar from the clubs I was familiar with in the gymnasium.
“What have you got there then, young fellow?” asked the large outlaw in front of me. Given that he was slightly better dressed than his fellows, I guessed him to be the leader.
“Come closer and find out,” I growled, sounding more confident than I felt. I had never been in a real fight before.
“There’s no need for words like that,” he said, smiling. Three of his teeth were missing. He slung his great club over his shoulder. “We saw your fire and thought you would welcome some company. Perhaps share some of your food as a sign of good faith.”
“Let go of my friend then, and we can discuss it,” I said.
“And have him do something hasty?” he asked. “Hasty actions cost lives, and no one here wants to lose their lives now, do they? Put down your weapon, such as it is, and let us talk.”
“Don’t do it!” said Theseus. “It’s a trick. Don’t trust these sacks of wine.” One of the two men sitting on him struck him a blow to the side of head, silencing him.
I hardly needed him to tell me. Even someone as ignorant as I could see that.
“There, look what you’ve made us do,” said the man facing me. “All is not lost though. Despite your mistrust, we can still resolve this with words. My name is Periphetes.” He held out his arm. “And yours?”
I hesitated. It would be rude not to take a hand extended in friendship. Perhaps this was all just a big misunderstanding? As always, I liked to avoid conflict as often as possible. As I hesitated, distracted, the man behind me took the opportunity to launch his attack, just as Periphetes had intended.
Lucky for me, the outlaw was not exactly well versed in battle. His bronze sword, poorly kept, was blunt. He aimed for my head, intending to cut me down before I had a chance to do anything else. He was only partially successful. The bronze sword clattered against my helm. Daedalus and Icarus had made that helm, probably the world’s best craftsmen at the time. Against an inferior sword, there was only one possible outcome. To the outlaw’s surprise, his sword shattered.
The impact was still enough to shake me. My training, however, ensured that I didn’t freeze. To freeze in combat was to die. Paris had told me that on many occasions. Instinctively, I swung in the direction where the blow had come from, feeling a satisfying thud judder through my arm as my makeshift club contacted flesh. My attacker gave a yelp of pain and toppled to the ground.
“Now that wasn’t very nice,” hissed Periphetes. His eyes narrowed with angry concentration. He approached menacingly and swung mightily with his club.
I brought my own club up to block, but to my dismay, it snapped under the impact. The momentum of Periphetes’s blow carried his club on. It struck my helm. This time the outcome was altogether different. Periphetes’s club was not a common one. It was constructed of seasoned wood and covered in bronze. A heroic weapon completely mismatched with its wielder.
The blow knocked me from my feet. I sprawled on the ground, stunned as Periphetes moved to stand over me triumphantly.
“And thus do the young learn,” said Periphetes, grinning. He brought his club down in a vicious arc to finish the job.
Unbelievably, I caught the club before it struck me, stopping it dead. I still remember the look on his face. One moment it was a mask of evil triumph, the next one of comical dismay.
Frantically, Periphetes tried to yank it from my grip. He may as well have tried to move a mountain. I jerked my arm, pulling him off his feet, causing him to lose his grip on his club. He fell over me and crashed onto the ground. I staggered to my feet. Blood was leaking into my eyes from where his blow had caught me. Despite my protection, I hadn’t emerged unscathed.
I reversed the grip on the club and hefted it experimentally. It felt good. I looked down at Periphetes dispassionately. Although gentle by nature, sudden hatred filled me. I don’t know what it was—perhaps the blood rage of battle that Paris had talked about so often, perhaps I just believed that this horrible human being didn’t deserve to live.
“Can we talk about this?” he pleaded.
“I think the time for talk is over,” I said. He screamed as his own club descended.
“And thus do evil doers pay,” I said grimly.
Ω
“Thank you,” said Theseus. “You saved my life. I owe you a debt.” I knew how much the words cost him. He seemed a little sullen, as if resenting the fact that I had rescued him, unable to forget that he had been taken without a fight. His pride had been injured.
“Forget it,” I said, waving his words away. I lowered myself wearily next to the fire that was now almost completely out.
“I won’t forget,” insisted Theseus.
“I told you to forget it,” I said, angry now. I wasn’t really angry with him. More with myself. Up to that point, I hadn’t really considered myself able to kill someone, to take another’s life. Paris had told me there were two types of warrior. The first type had doubts during battle. They were the ones whose self-doubt often resulted in their own deaths. Then there were the second type—the ones who were able to cast aside such doubts, doubts that would only come back to haunt them long after the battle had ended. These warriors triumphed. Paris had told me it was only natural to think about death after the fact. He often saw the faces of those he’d killed in his dreams. But he was able to turn that off during battle, to live in the moment, to do what had to be done. Remorse came later.
It seemed like I was numbered amongst this second group.
After I had killed Periphetes, his two remaining thugs had fled in terror, taking their injured friend with them. As for Periphetes’s body, Theseus had kindly dragged it into the trees, away from sight. He was away for some time and carried several items that he tucked into his satchel when he returned.
He tossed something at me. They were sandals. “Here,” he said. “Periphetes’s sandals. He won’t be needing them anymore. He’s food for the maggots now.”
I stared at the footwear of a dead man without touching. I couldn’t do it. Not just yet at any rate. They probably wouldn’t fit anyway.
Theseus himself was uninjured, the blow he had been struck a minor one. My injury was a little more serious. The blow had broken the skin on my forehead, despite my helm’s protection. The wound was still leaking as I slumped next to the fire. I wiped at the blood, thinking of the body of Periphetes lying lifeless and cold amongst the trees.
“How is your head?” asked Theseus.
“Fine,” I said gruffly.
“You’ll need to clean it,” he said. He tore a strip from what had presumably been Periphetes’s tunic and soaked it in water. He crouched down before me and began wiping the blood from my forehead.
I let him work without protest. I didn’t really care, but Paris had told me how important it was to clean wounds. Paris had seen too many soldiers die over wounds more minor than mine.
“It’s not deep,” said Theseus. “Luckily.”
I said nothing. “We won’t have to worry about food for a few more days now,” he continued. “Periphetes had a pouch of food and a water skin. I also found a purse tucked up against his skin.”
I knew what Theseus was trying to do. Distract me and perhaps make me realize that some good had come from Periphetes’s death. It seemed like a high price to pay. Some food, water, and a few coins in exchange for a life. Instead of making me feel better, I felt worse.
“Have you ever killed a man?” I asked.
Theseus paused. I could tell he was wrestling with his pride again, unwilling to admit his inexperience and lose face in front of me. He pursed his lips but finally told the truth.
“No,” he admitted. “But I will soon. That’s what heroes do.”
“Be careful
what you wish for,” I said.
He thrust himself to his feet angrily, throwing away the bloodstained rag. “You need to be stronger than this,” he said. “We are bound to meet more outlaws or worse on the road. This will not be your last killing. I need you to be strong at my side.”
“Easy for you to say,” I said. I knew it would make him angrier, but I was too busy wallowing in my own misery and regret to care.
“Yes, it is,” he said, his voice rising. “Periphetes deserved what he got. Do you think he would be dwelling on your death if your positions were reversed? I don’t think so. Think of the lives you have saved by killing him. He would’ve preyed on other travelers and taken their lives without remorse. One life for many. It was the right thing to do.”
“I could’ve let him live,” I said glumly. “I could have made him swear on his honor to change his ways. To promise to give up the life of an outlaw.”
“Do you really think he would’ve listened to you?” Theseus sneered. “Promises extracted from someone like him would never last. But I’ll tell you this now; when I have to kill someone, especially scum like him, I will not hesitate and I will have no regrets. Whatever harm they seek to inflict on me or others, I will rain down upon them a thousand fold.”
Theseus threw himself down by the fire and said no more.
Ω
“You’re telling me that you and Theseus were friends?” said Ovid with open disbelief. “At the very least, companions?”
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it,” replied Ast mildly.
“But you are never mentioned in the stories” said Ovid.
Ast sighed impatiently. “That’s because the myths were retold and passed down by the Athenians. I have told you this already. His stature would’ve been lessened by my presence.”
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