by Stephen Fry
It was the club he carried that started the rumours flying. Theseus stopped off at a stall to buy a melon; a small boy saw the club and, intrigued, touched it.
‘Is that … is that … bronze?’ he asked.
Theseus nodded gravely. ‘That is what the man I took it from claimed and I have every reason to believe him.’
The stallholder leaned forward. ‘I heard that Periphetes the bandit was killed. He carried a club like this, they say.’
‘Periphetes Corynetes!’ went the cry.
‘Is this the man we’ve heard tell of?’
‘The one who tore Sinis apart with his own pine trees?’
‘The lone traveller who outfought Cercyon …’
‘… and slew the Crommyonian Sow …’
‘… and lopped off the legs of Procrustes the Stretcher …’
‘… and fed Sciron the cliff-killer to the tortoise …’
Theseus found himself being lifted bodily and carried to the palace by a cheering crowd. Here was the nameless hero of the Isthmian Road, the Saviour of the Saronic Coast! His name is Theseus and he is a Prince of Troezen. Hurrah for Troezen! Hurrah for Theseus!
Theseus had deliberately set out to make a name for himself and he had succeeded. That is why he chose the footpath of greatest danger over the sea-lane of greater safety. But he was not entirely vain, and he had enough sense to understand that fame and hero-worship cut two ways. They may embolden and excite the populace, but they aggravate and alarm the powerful. He had no wish to alienate his father before they had even met. With smiles and friendly back-slapping, he managed to extricate himself from the cheering crowd.
‘Thank you, friends,’ he said, safely back at street level. ‘Thank you, but I am just a man like any other, and it is as a humble citizen that I beg an audience with your king.’
Such modesty of course served only to increase the adoration of the Athenian citizenry. They understood and respected such humility and allowed him to enter the palace alone and unencumbered by an entourage of admirers.
King Aegeus received Theseus in the throne room. Seated beside him was his third wife, Medea. Everyone had heard of Medea and the part she played in ensuring the success of the quest for the Golden Fleece. Stories abounded of her powers as an enchantress and of her implacable will. Her passion as a lover, wife and mother had driven her, they said, to do the most unspeakable things. Child murder, blood murder – there was nothing of which she was not capable, but looking at her you saw only beauty and simple sweetness. Theseus bowed before both.
‘So this is the young man of whom we have heard tell, eh? A Prince of Troezen no less, grandson of my old friend Pittheus. Rid us of our infestation of bandits, did he?’ Aegeus did not, of course, recognise his son. If there was something in the russet of Theseus’s hair that matched his own sparse and greying thatch, it did not cause much comment. The Grecian mainland, Macedonia in particular, was filled with men and women of varying degrees of sandy, ginger, copper and red hair.
Theseus bowed again.
‘That’s a lot of killing, young man,’ said Medea, with a smile and flash of her green eyes. ‘I hope you have done something to purge your soul of so much blood?’
‘Yes, majesty,’ said Theseus. ‘I saw the PHYTALIDES who have a temple beside the River Cephissus and begged for atonement. They purified me.’fn6
‘That was very clever of you – very proper of you,’ Medea emended her words, but Theseus caught the spark of enmity. Aegeus too, he had to confess to himself, seemed far from pleased to see him.
‘Yes, well, I’m sure we’re very grateful,’ said the king. ‘Please make yourself at home here in the palace. I’m sure we can find something for you to do in the … er … the army, or somewhere … there are many ways a good man may be of service to us.’
Aegeus’s throne was, in truth, far from secure. Being childless (as he and the world thought) his brother PALLAS’s fifty sons – yes, fiftyfn7 – all expected a share in the throne when he was gone. Their aggressive impatience at his refusal to abdicate or die caused Aegeus many sleepless nights. Medea had a son, Medus, whom she hoped would rule Athens after Aegeus’s death.
Medea looked at the young man now standing before her with such false modesty and fake charm. She was not fooled for an instant. She looked again more closely and her heart leapt in her breast. She saw the hair, but more than that she noticed a look, a cast of features that she knew from Aegeus. Rumours had abounded of his visit – when was it? Yes, seventeen or eighteen years ago – to the Delphic oracle and thence to Troezen and his friend Pittheus, who had a daughter, Aethra. Yes, this bold youth was the bastard of that union, Medea was certain of it. The searching gaze he was giving Aegeus only confirmed her conviction. Well, she would put an end to this threat. Nothing would come between her and the plans she had for Medus to inherit the throne.
‘Actually, I can think of something he might do for us, if he – excuse me, Theseus was it? What an unusual name – if Theseus might consider …’ She leaned across and whispered into Aegeus’s ear. He nodded brightly.
‘Yes, yes. The queen, as always, is wise. You seek adventure, young man? You would like to help Athens?’
Theseus nodded eagerly.
‘The villagers over near Marathon have been complaining about some terrifying bull that is rampaging around the plain. Terrible – from Crete originally, they tell me. It’s making trade and civil congress in the region all but impossible. If what they say about you and that sow in Crommyon is true … you don’t think …?’
‘Say no more, sire,’ said Theseus. With his most respectful bow he left on his mission.
‘What a good idea, Medea, m’dear,’ said Aegeus. ‘I didn’t like the cut of that young man. And such popularity is dangerous. Did you hear how the crowd cheered him?’
‘A dangerous youth, for certain.’
‘Well, we’ve seen the last of him. That bull breathes fire from its nostrils. It’s untameable. I should know.’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Medea. ‘I shall make a fire and look into the flames. There’s something about that boy …’
THE MARATHONIAN BULL
The news that Aegeus had sent Theseus to kill the bull at Marathon sent shockwaves throughout Attica. For the king had sent a young man on the very same mission before, with disastrous consequences. He had received Prince ANDROGEUS, a son of King Minos of Crete, as a guest, and foolishly sent him on the same errand, to rid Athens of a terrible bull that was devastating the countryside. The bull had promptly killed Androgeus, and as a punishment for such an egregious sin against the laws of hospitality, Minos had invaded Attica and threatened to raze the city to the ground unless … Well, we will come to that soon enough. For the moment, everyone wondered how Aegeus could be making the identical same disastrous mistake, for it was the identical same disastrous bull.
We first encountered this prodigiously significant beast when it was known as the Cretan Bull, the very one Heracles had been ordered to capture for his Seventh Labour.fn8 After he let it go, you will recall, it fled from Mycenae and eventually ended up in Marathon, where it had been terrorising the inhabitants ever since.
Theseus went to Marathon and once more demonstrated the difference between his brand of heroism and that of Heracles who, if you remember, had planted himself on the ground and let the bull come at him, seizing it by the horns and using his sheer physical strength to subdue it. Theseus approached the problem in his own way. He watched the bull for some time. He saw no flames jetting from its nostrils, but he did see enormous strength and a terrible primal savagery in its furious snorting, bellowing and pawing of the ground. The ravaged countryside, gored livestock and flattened buildings all told him of the animal’s formidable power and instinct to kill.
‘But he’s really no more frightening than Cercyon, whom I wrestled to the ground and dashed on the rocks,’ he said to himself.
Sure enough, employing that same subtle art of turning the strength of a
n adversary against him, Theseus wore the bull out. Theseus was too lithe, nimble and quick for it. Each time the bull came at him, Theseus jumped into the air and the baffled animal found itself charging through vacant space beneath him.fn9
‘You don’t breathe fire,’ said Theseus, leaping over him for the tenth time, ‘but your breath is hot.’
At last the great beast was too tired to resist any further. Theseus harnessed him and ploughed the Plain of Marathon.fn10 The ploughing demonstrated his mastery of the beast and proved to the delighted inhabitants that they could now grow crops and farm their land in safety.
Theseus returned in triumph to Athens with the bull, which he sacrificed to Apollo in the agora.
THE QUEEN OF POISONS
Aegeus’s plan could not have backfired more spectacularly. Far from ridding himself of this threat to his peace and security, he had propelled Theseus to even greater heights of popularity and acclaim. All Athens thrilled at the procession through the streets as Theseus led the great bull, once so ferocious, but now as placid and docile as a castrated ox, and made the noble and modest sacrifice to Apollo. The people had never seen such a hero. Aegeus was bound to throw a feast in his honour and it was while he was moodily dressing for this that Medea entered his chamber.
‘This young man bodes nothing but ill for us, my husband.’
‘I am aware of it.’
‘See here …’ Medea showed him a small crystal phial. ‘In there is a quantity of wolf’s bane …’
‘The queen of poisons, they call it, do they not?’
‘It has many names,’ said Medea coldly. ‘Blue rocket, devil’s helmet, leopard’s fire, aconite.fn11 It is enough to know that it kills. I drop the contents into the popinjay prince’s cup and lo! we are rid of the problem. It will seem as though he has had a fit, a storm in the mind, and we shall put it about so. Hades was greedy for so great a soul to come to the Underworld, we will say, and he sent Thanatos, Lord of Death, to bring Theseus to his eternal rest in paradise.’
‘You’re a clever little thing,’ said Aegeus, chucking her under the chin.
‘Don’t ever do that again.’
‘No, Medea, m’dear.’
He did not see Medea slip the poison into Theseus’s cup at table, but a sign from her showed that she had managed to do so. She did not go quite so far as to tap the side of her nose and wink, but the slow and meaningful nod she gave Aegeus assured him that all was ready.
‘So now, my people,’ said Aegeus rising with a cup in his hand. ‘I offer a toast to our guest, this prince of Troezen, this slayer of bandits and tamer of bulls, our new friend and protector. Let us drink to the health of Lord Theseus, for so I now name him.’
Enthusiastic murmurs of assent ran round the hall as the guests drank to Theseus, who sat modestly nodding his thanks.
‘And now our guest must reply,’ said Medea.
‘Oh, now, well …’ Theseus rose to his feet, grasping a goblet in nervous hands. ‘I am not much of a fellow for talking. I know the art of speech-making is prized here in Athens and I hope some day to learn. For the most part I let my sword do the talking …’ he opened his cloak slightly and put a hand to the hilt of his sword. A murmur of sympathetic and admiring laughter ran round the hall. ‘But I drink to –’
‘No!’
To the astonishment of all present King Aegeus suddenly leaned forward and violently struck the cup from Theseus’s hands.
‘That sword,’ he said, pointing to Theseus’s side. ‘I buried that very sword in the ground for my son to find.’
‘And these rotten old sandals,’ said Theseus with a laugh, pulling one of them from his foot. ‘How I cursed them when I was on the road.’
Father and son fell into each others’ arms. It was a moment before Aegeus called Medea to mind.
‘And as for you, sorceress, witch and –’
But she had gone. She left Athens never to return. Some swore that they saw her flying across the sky in a chariot drawn by dragons, her son Medus by her side.fn12
THE STORY OF THE TRIBUTE
Aegeus’s next act was to announce that he would one day soon abdicate his throne in favour of Theseus, news received with much joy by the people of Athens. Aegeus was not unpopular, but it was widely accepted that he had been a weak ruler. Fifty strong and angry men contested Theseus’s right to rule, however – the Pallantidae, the fifty sons of Aegeus’s dead brother Pallas. They declared outright war on their unwanted cousin. It is axiomatic in the world of Greek mythology that a hero never knows rest and it was with a good grace and healthy vigour that Theseus prosecuted his war against the fifty.
In two groups, each led by twenty-five of the brothers, the enemy planned a surprise pincer attack on Athens. But Theseus had spies in their camp. Informed of their plans by a herald named LEUS, he ambushed each army in turn, massacring every single one of the Pallantidae.
Theseus felt he now had time to enjoy the peace and prosperity that had at last come to Athens. Yet he noticed that far from looking happy, the citizenry was going about the town with sullen, downcast looks. He was still popular, he knew that. But he could not account for what he saw in the people’s eyes. He went to Aegeus.
‘I don’t understand it, father. The Pallantidae are no longer a threat. That witch Medea no longer exerts her malign influence over you and the city … trade is booming. Yet there’s a look in everyone’s eyes. A look of fear, of … the only word I can think of is … dread.’
Aegeus nodded. ‘Yes. Dread is the right word.’
‘But why?’
‘It’s the tributes, you see. The time has come round again for the tributes.’
‘Tributes?’
‘Has no one told you? Well, you’ve been a little occupied since you got here, haven’t you? I suppose what with those fifty nephews of mine … and the Marathonian Bull, of course. Well, it concerns that damned bull, as a matter of fact … Oh dear.’
‘What about it, father? It’s been dead this year or more.’
‘We have to go back quite a few years. King Minos sent his son to stay with me. To take part in some games and learn a little Athenian town polish, you know. Manners and style. The Cretans are … well, you know what Cretans are like.’
Theseus did not know what Cretans were like, but he knew that the rest of Greece held them equally in awe, fear and contempt.
‘So he came to us. Androgeus, his name was. Stupid boy, I thought him, not very interesting, and so boastful about his attributes as a fighter and athlete. I should never have encouraged him. It was wrong of me …’
‘What happened?’
‘He died, while a guest. His father Minos … er … didn’t take it well. He sailed a fleet here which overwhelmed our navy. Troops poured out from their damned ships and before long he had us where he wanted us.’
‘But he didn’t occupy Athens?’
‘Said it wasn’t worth it. “No Cretan would want to live in such a place,” he said. Cheek. He threatened to burn the whole city to the ground unless …’
‘Unless?’
‘Well, this is where we come to it. Every year we must send seven maidens and seven youths in a ship to Crete to feed their … their …’ Aegeus dried up at this point and gestured helplessly.
‘Feed their what? Their army? Their sexual appetites? Their curiosity? What?’
‘I suppose I shall have to tell you a story within a story now. What do you know of Daedalus?’
‘Never heard of it …’
‘Daedalus is not an it, he’s a him.’
‘Never heard of him, then.’
‘Really? Have you heard of ASTERION and Pasiphae, or the Bull from the Sea?’
‘Father, you talk in riddles.’
Aegeus sighed. ‘I had better call for wine. You should know these stories.’
THE BULL FROM THE SEA
Crete is, in many respects (said Aegeus to Theseus, once wine had been brought and they had settled themselves back on couches), a
blessed spot. The fruit and vegetables they grow there are bigger, juicier and tastier than from any other lands. The fish they catch on their coastline is the best in the Mediterranean. They are a proud people, a fierce people. For many years King Minos, in his palace at Knossos, has ruled them sternly but fairly. They have prospered under him. But there is a dark secret at the heart of Knossos.
For many years Minos has been lucky to have in his court the most gifted inventor, the most skilled artificer outside the Olympian forges of Hephaestus. His name is Daedalus and he is capable of fashioning moving objects out of metal, bronze, wood, ivory and gemstones. He has mastered the art of tightly coiling leaves of steel into powerful springs, which control wheels and chains to form intricate and marvellous mechanisms that mark the passage of the hours with great precision and accuracy, or control the levels of watercourses. There is nothing this cunning man cannot contrive in his workshop. There are moving statues there, men and women animated by his skill, boxes that play music and devices that can awaken him in the morning. Even if only half the stories of what Daedalus can achieve are true then you can be certain that no more cunning and clever an inventor, architect and craftsman has ever walked this earth.
They say he is descended from CECROPS, the first King of Attica and ancestor of all Athenians, Cecrops who judged in favour of Athena when she and Poseidon vied for control of the new town he was building. That is why we call the city Athens and bask in the wisdom and warmth of the great goddess’s protection. I only mention this because although he works for Minos, our enemy, I think of Daedalus as Athenian, as one of us. After all, I would hate to think of a Cretan being so clever. As a matter of fact, Daedalus was expelled from Athens. He had a nephew named PERDIX who served as his apprentice and was, they say, even more ingenious and gifted than his brilliant uncle. Before he even reached the age of twenty, Perdix had invented the saw (inspired, they say, by the serrations on the backbone of a fish), compasses for architectural planning and geometry, and the potter’s wheel too. Who knows what he would have gone on to devise had his jealous uncle not thrown him off the Acropolis, where he fell to his death. The goddess Athena turned him into a partridge. If you’ve ever wondered why partridgesfn13 always skim low and never soar into the air and even build their nests on the ground, it is because they recall their terrifying plummet from the heights of Athens.
