by Unknown
‘Sir stranger!’ he cried. ‘Come and test your strength by helping me bend down this pine tree!’
But Theseus knew what to expect, and when the tree was bent down in a great curve it was he and not Sinis who let go suddenly and sent his partner flying through the air. Then he bent down two trees himself, tied Sinis between them, and allowed them to tear him in half; for he saw the sad remains of former travellers dangling from the tree-tops on either side.
As he went on, Theseus stopped to kill a wild sow which was ravaging the lands just beyond the isthmus, and then on a rocky cliff where the path was narrow, with a sheer drop into the sea, he met Sciron.
‘All who pass this way must pay a toll!’ cried this brute rudely. ‘So down on your knees, like your betters before you, and wash my feet!’
Now Theseus had been warned about Sciron; so he knelt down warily as far from the cliff edge as he could.
Then Sciron shouted: ‘My turtle is hungry today – go down and feed it!’ And as he spoke he kicked Theseus, meaning to push him over the edge into the sea. But Theseus was ready for him, and caught Sciron by the foot and flung him over his shoulder shouting:
‘Go and feed your turtle yourself!’ And Sciron went head first down the cliff into the deep water – and never had that turtle eaten a viler man.
Continuing along the coast road, Theseus came to Eleusis where mighty Cercyon wrestled with all comers and crushed their bones in his bear-like hug. But this time he met with a man stronger than himself, and presently he lay on his back upon the ground with all his ribs broken.
Whistling merrily at his success so far, Theseus strode on his way towards Athens, and came in the evening to a dark tower standing by the high road.
‘Good evening to you, stranger!’ cried the master of this place who was called Procrustes. ‘You must be weary after a day’s travel in the heat of the sun: come in and rest for the night – I insist upon it! All travellers come to partake of my hospitality, and to try my wonderful bed… What, you’ve never heard of the Bed of Procrustes? Ah, you’ve much to learn! It is a magic bed, and it fits all comers, great or small, long or short!’
Some say that an old servant, the only man who had really fitted that bed, warned Theseus of what to expect: but certain it is that when bed-time came Theseus turned suddenly upon his host and cried:
‘Come, let me fit you to the bed first!’ and flinging him down upon it, in spite of his cries and entreaties, he cut off first his feet and then his head which protruded over the ends – for even so had Procrustes done to all his unfortunate guests, lopping them if they were too long, and beating them out if they were too short as if they had been lumps of lead: and no man ever lived after a night on that terrible bed.
And so, having cleared the road of all these miscreants, Theseus came to Athens and strode into the palace of his father King Aegeus. He did not say at first who he was, nor show the sword and the sandals and only the Witch-wife who now ruled the old king knew him. Aegeus had taken her because she promised to make him the father of many sons who would grow up to defend him against his fifty nephews, the children of Pallas: but, once his wife, she kept him in such fear that he did whatever she commanded.
Now she warned him against this young stranger who professed to have done such mighty deeds for the glory of Athens, so that at last he said:
‘Young man, I will believe what you say only if you bring me the Cretan Bull which wastes my land at Marathon, and kills my subjects.’
This was the Bull which Heracles had brought from Crete, and which Eurystheus had allowed to escape into Attica some years before.
Off went Theseus, full of confidence, and in spite of its terrible strength and fury, took the Bull by the horns and dragged it back to Athens, where he sacrificed it to Athena on the acropolis.
This was more than the Witch-wife could endure, and she mixed a cup of deadly poison for the feast that night, having warned Aegeus that the stranger came to murder him.
Theseus was determined to show the king who he was that very evening, and as he prepared to feast on the best sirloin from the Cretan Bull, he drew the sword to carve it, and laid it on the table in full view while he paused to drink, taking up the poisoned cup.
Aegeus saw the sword and recognized it. With a cry he dashed the cup from his son’s hand, so that the poison was spilt on the floor, where it bubbled and hissed, eating its way into the solid stone.
Then the Witch-wife fled swiftly from Athens, and Aegeus welcomed Theseus, and declared him to be the heir to his throne.
This did not please the sons of Pallas, and they gathered together their followers, meaning to attack Athens and kill him. But Theseus armed the Athenians, marched out of the city, ambushed his enemies and defeated them utterly.
When he returned to Athens, he was surprised to find the city in mourning:
‘What does this mean?’ he cried. ‘Have I not just returned from a victory?’
Then Aegeus told him, with tears in his eyes, that the envoys from Crete had just arrived to carry off the tribute of seven youths and seven maidens to be fed to the Minotaur, as agreed when King Minos came to take vengeance for the death of his son whom the Bull had killed at Marathon.
When Theseus heard this he exclaimed: ‘I will go myself as one of the young men, and meet with this Minotaur!’
In vain Aegeus begged him not to be so foolhardy: ‘If I slay the Minotaur,’ said Theseus, ‘it will surely save our country from further tribute – so go I will.’
‘Then promise me,’ said Aegeus sadly, ‘that if you return victorious you will hoist white sails on your ship: but if you do not, the black sails which waft the Athenian youths and maidens to their doom will tell me that you have perished with them.’
Promising this, Theseus set out for Crete, and in due time arrived at Cnossus where mighty Minos ruled. Here the victims were kindly entertained, and took part in racing and boxing contests before the king and his court. As he stood panting at the winning post, the Princess Ariadne saw Theseus and straightway loved him.
In great misery at the thought of the fate which awaited him, Ariadne at length thought of a scheme. That night she visited Theseus: ‘Ask to go first into the Labyrinth tomorrow,’ she instructed him. ‘No one has ever found his way out again, but if you can take with you this clue of thread, without it being discovered, and fasten one end to the door when it is closed after you, unrolling it as you go, you may find your way back by means of it. I will be at the door at midnight to let you out if you are successful: but you must take me with you in your flight, for I will not be safe here when it is known that I helped you.’
Theseus did exactly as he was told, and next day entered the Labyrinth with the clue of thread concealed in his hand. When alone, he attached one end to the lintel of the door, and unwound the thread behind him as he traced his way through the winding passages, leading up and down, hither and thither, until he came to the great chamber or cavern in the centre where the dim light from above showed the monster waiting for him.
The Minotaur was a fearsome creature with a great human body and the head and neck of a bull. Its skin was as tough as the toughest leather and a dull yellow colour like brass.
When it saw Theseus, it rushed upon him, bellowing with rage and hunger. Theseus, of course, had no weapon: but as the creature came he smote it over the heart with his fist, and then leapt aside. Bellowing more fiercely than ever, the Minotaur came at him again; and again he smote, and sprang aside. Again and again he did this, until at last the creature began to weaken. Finally Theseus seized it by the horns and forced back its head, back and back until with a mighty crack the neck broke, and the Minotaur lay dead.
After resting a little, Theseus picked up the end of his clue, and began to follow it back, winding it up as he went. In this way he at length reached the door, where Ariadne was waiting for him. Swiftly she led him and the other intended victims to their ship; and while it was still dark they crept on board, cut the c
ables, and stole silently away.
They sailed over the sea towards Athens, and on the way stopped to rest on the lovely island of Naxos. This, as it happened, was specially dear to Dionysus; and there he and the Satyrs were feasting and making merry at this time. Dionysus saw Ariadne as she wandered through the leafy woods, and fell in love with her dark, wild beauty. So he cast her into a magic sleep, as he so easily could by turning a spring or a stream into wine; and when she awoke, she remembered nothing about Theseus, nor how she came to Naxos, but willingly became the bride of Dionysus.
Theseus, meanwhile, searched the island for her in vain, and at last sailed sadly away, mourning the princess who had saved him. And he was still so lost in melancholy that as he sailed up the Gulf of Aegina and drew near to Athens, he forgot to hang white sails from his mast in place of black, and Aegeus watching for him believed that his son was dead, and cast himself down from the rock of the acropolis, and so died.
In his memory the sea between Greece and Asia Minor is called the Aegean to this very day.
Minos did not pursue Theseus and Ariadne: instead, he set out in search of Daedalus the clever craftsman who had made the Labyrinth and sworn that no man could ever find his way out of it.
For Daedalus, as soon as he learnt that Theseus had escaped, fled from Crete, knowing that Minos would seek to punish him. No ship would take him, but Daedalus made wings out of feathers fastened together with wax for himself and his son Icarus.
‘Do not go too high,’ cautioned Daedalus as they set out. But Icarus, overbold when he found how well he could fly, went too near to the sun. Then the wax melted from his wings and he fell into the sea, which was ever afterwards called the Icarian, and was drowned.
But Daedalus reached land in safety, and no one knew where he had gone. Minos, however, was cunning and the way he set about his quest was this: he carried with him a spiral shell, and gave out that whoever could thread a piece of silk through it should have a vast reward. He felt certain that no one but Daedalus was clever enough to perform this seemingly impossible feat.
His guess proved correct, for when he came to Sicily, King Cocalus took the shell and brought it back next morning with the thread drawn through it.
‘Daedalus is here!’ exclaimed Minos, and threatened a terrible vengeance unless he was given up to him.
‘You are right,’ confessed Cocalus. ‘He indeed threaded the shell. He fastened the silk to the hind leg of an ant and allowed it to crawl through the spiral, drawing the thread after it. I will certainly give him up to you, tomorrow. But tonight come and feast with us.’
Suspecting nothing, Minos agreed readily. But that night as he lay in his bath, the Princess of Sicily who had fallen in love with Daedalus, poured boiling water down a pipe which the master craftsman had prepared, and Minos was scalded to death.
Meanwhile Theseus had become King of Athens, and when he heard that Minos was dead, he made peace with the new king of Crete, who sent him his sister Phaedra in marriage, so that, in spite of his loss of Ariadne, he still married a daughter of Minos.
Then he ruled in Athens for some time, bringing peace and order to the country; though he was careful to kill any of his cousins whom he could catch, in case they should try to seize the throne.
In time he grew weary of his peaceful life, and longed for further adventures. So he was overjoyed when a message reached him from a young Prince called Jason urging him to join an expedition in search of the Golden Fleece from the Ram which carried Phrixus and Helle over the sea from Greece many years before.
Eagerly Theseus set out for Iolcus, where Jason was gathering a band of Heroes for his quest, among whom the most famous was Heracles himself – free from his servitude at last and longing for a real adventure after the years as a slave to Queen Omphale.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE QUEST OF THE GOLDEN FLEECE
Then Jason said: ‘A happy lot is mine!
Surely the gods must love me, since that thou
Art come, with me the rough green plain to
plough
That no man reaps; yet certes, thou alone
In after days shall be the glorious one
Whom men shall sing of when they name the
Fleece,
That bore the son of Athamas from Greece!’
WILLIAM MORRIS
The Life and Death of Jason
15
Jason’s father was the rightful king of Iolcus, but he was deposed by his brother Pelias, the father of Alcestis, who tried to murder the true heir. Jason, however, was smuggled away to the Centaur Chiron, who tended him carefully in his mountain cave and trained him in all things suiting a prince.
Pelias, meanwhile, reigned in Iolcus – though not very happily, since an oracle had told him to ‘beware of the man with a single sandal’, who would cause his death.
When Jason was grown up, he set out for Iolcus to seek his fortune there, and also to find his father and see if he could come to some agreement with his wicked uncle. On the way he came to a ford through the river Anaurus, where the flood-water was running swiftly. An old woman sitting on the bank cried out when she saw Jason:
‘Good sir, will you carry me across; for you are young and strong, with mighty things before you: but I am too old and feeble to battle with the waters of this river.’
‘Certainly I will, good mother!’ said Jason kindly, and he lifted the old woman on to his shoulders and entered the stream. It was a difficult crossing, and Jason was almost exhausted when he struggled up the further bank, and he had lost one sandal in the mud of the river’s bed.
He set down his ancient burden – and then fell on his knees with amazement and awe. For instead of the old woman, the tall and stately form of a shining Immortal stood before him.
‘Do not be afraid, Jason,’ she said. ‘I am Hera, Queen of Heaven, and your friend. Go forward as you are, and speak the words that I shall put into your mouth, and you will become one of the most famous Heroes in all Greece!’
Then she vanished, and Jason went on his way rejoicing, and came to Iolcus in the evening, when Pelias was holding a great feast.
‘The man with one sandal!’ Pelias turned pale and trembled when he saw. And when he learnt that this was his nephew, the rightful heir to the throne, he grew even more afraid. But he hid his fear and his hatred, and welcomed Jason warmly.
‘I need just such a man to be my counsellor,’ he said heartily. ‘And to test your wisdom, let me ask you what, supposing you had the power, you would do if you received an oracle that you were to be deposed by a certain one of your subjects?’
‘Do?’ exclaimed Jason. ‘I would command him to bring home the Golden Fleece from Colchis!’
‘Excellent advice!’ cried Pelias gleefully. ‘You are yourself the man, and you must perform this quest!’
‘I will indeed,’ said Jason quietly. ‘And on my return, I shall fulfil the oracle!’
‘I shall yield up the throne to you willingly,’ said Pelias, ‘when you return with the Golden Fleece!’
Jason sought the help of Argus, a skilled ship-builder who, with the aid of Athena, made a ship of fifty oars named Argo after its maker; and Athena fastened to its prow a magic branch from the oak-tree of Dodona which on occasion could speak, prophesying the future or offering advice.
Next Jason sent heralds throughout Greece calling on the bravest of the young kings and princes to join him on the quest and win immortal fame. From all parts they came trooping to Iolcus – and their names were the names of Heroes still remembered, and their children were the Heroes who fought at Troy.
First came Heracles, with Hylas his esquire; and then Theseus from Athens, and young Castor and Polydeuces from Sparta, with their wild cousins Idas and Lyceus. Telamon came, and Peleus, who had been the companions of Heracles on his expedition against the Amazons; and the wondrous sons of the North Wind, Zetes and Calais, who had wings growing from their shoulders. Admetus came, and Oileus; Laertes the father of Od
ysseus; Meleager whose strange tale is yet to be told, and Atalanta the Maiden Huntress, the follower of Artemis; Nestor, the only Argonaut to fight at Troy, and many another whose names are recorded in the old books.
There came also the divine singer, Orpheus, the son of Apollo. When he played upon his lyre and sang sweetly the wild beasts followed him in friendship, and the very trees and flowers bowed to the power of his music. But his heart was filled with sadness, for his wife Eurydice had been bitten by a snake and died. Orpheus followed her to the Land of the Dead, and at the wonder of his music, Charon ferried him across the black River Styx and Cerberus let him pass: even Hades was overcome and gave him back his lost Eurydice – but on condition that he did not look behind to see if she was following, until they stood again in the sunlight. But Orpheus, fearing lest Charon had refused to take her across the Styx, looked back once – and Eurydice was lost to him for ever.
When the Heroes were gathered at Iolcus, they hung their shields upon the rails of the Argo, and set sail over the dancing waves, while Orpheus played to them, and Tiphys the skilled helmsman guided the ship.
Northwards they sailed, and came to the land of King Cyzicus, who entertained them kindly. When they put to sea again, a great storm took the ship and whirled it around in the darkness till they came to a shore that they did not know, and the inhabitants took them for pirates and attacked them in the night.
Fiercely the battle raged, and the Argonauts (as those who sailed in the Argo were called) proved victorious. But what was their grief and horror to find when the day dawned that it was the land of kind King Cyzicus to which they had returned without knowing, and that he and many of his warriors lay dead at their hands.