“If what you lend me are fearful enough, they will create a horde of fresh corpses, and send new shades thronging down to enlarge your kingdom.”
“Interesting …” murmured Hades. “Let’s see what I can spare. The choices are limited. No Harpies; I need them here. No roasting-pit demons, nor those who wield the fire-flick or the marrow-log; they’re all fully employed. I can let you have some general-torment fiends.”
“What are they?”
Hades clapped his hands and whistled thrice. Into the throne room shuffled a thing that looked like a wingless dragon. It walked on two legs and stood about eight feet tall. Had green mottled skin as hard as armor, a ridged tail, and crocodile jaws.
“Fire!” barked Hades.
The creature opened its jaws and spat flame.
“Excellent!” cried Athena. “Even better than I imagined. Oh, thank you, Uncle, thank you. How many can I have?”
“Twenty,” said Hades. “That’s the very best I can do.”
“Oh, marvelous!”
“I must warn you,” said Hades. “They are witless. They can take no initiative. They must be fully instructed as to whom to kill and how many.”
“Suits my purpose exactly,” said Athena. “I mean to supply them with a leader, even more murderous, and very intelligent.”
“Very well,” said Hades. “And when can I be expecting a batch of corpses from Bebrycos?”
“Soon … soon …” said Athena, and departed, very pleased.
Thus it was that when Amycus swam to shore, he found twenty wingless dragons waiting on the beach. He lowered his head, preparing to fight, but a huge owl dived out of the sky, crying, “No, Amycus, do not attack! These creatures are as useful as they are ugly. They are sent here to serve you and help you to become king of this island.”
“Who are you?”
“I serve Athena, the goddess who guides your destiny.”
“And I am to be king of this place?”
“And much more. A terror to visitors and castaways, of whom you will be sent multitudes. And a superb menace to shipping. Your name will be spoken with fear as long as tales are told.”
“Are these things as fearsome as they look?”
“Even more so. Their claws can rip out an elephant’s entrails; their jaws crush the largest bone; their tails can scythe down a thick tree. And … they spit fire.”
“They do seem well qualified for any fiendish task,” said Amycus. “Convey my thanks to the goddess, and tell her that when I am king I shall raise her an altar larger and more splendid than any in the world.”
Now, those who dwelt on the island were brave, heavily armed, and skillful fighters. Throughout their history they had fought off vicious pirate raids and resisted invaders from Crete, Carthage, and Mycenae. But their enemies had always been human, and when a band of walking crocodiles led by a brass-headed giant suddenly appeared on their shore, they were confused and frightened. They mastered their fear, however, and marched against the weird invaders.
But when the troops reached the beach and actually saw what they were supposed to fight, they halted abruptly and tried not to believe what they were seeing—an array of enormous lizards dwarfed by a giant whose head was a ball of blinding light in the noonday sun.
“Listen to me, good folk,” roared Amycus. He was trying to speak gently, which meant that he was bellowing a bit more softly than usual. “Before you attack, let me show you what you’ll be facing.”
He motioned to the dragons, who wheeled and spat flame at a nearby grove of trees. They spat simultaneously. Twenty jets of fire hit the trees, which immediately began to burn. Like tall torches they burned. A flock of birds rose out of the branches, feathers on fire. As the island troops watched, the trees burned to the ground.
“You see?” said Amycus. “If I had turned them the other way, it is you who would be burning. So why don’t you just lay down your arms like good little people, and surrender. We’ll work you hard, but it’s better than burning.”
“Never!” cried the battle chief. “Death before slavery!”
“It’s all right for you to choose death for yourself,” said Amycus, “but why take so many men with you? I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Search the island through and bring out your best fighters—ten of them, twenty, however many you wish. I’ll fight them all at once. If I do not finish them off in an hour, then we’ll withdraw peacefully. But if I vanquish your champions, then you’ll all surrender, and your lives will be spared.”
“Agreed!” cried the battle chief. “The best fighters on the island are those facing you now. I’ll choose twenty of them and we can set to work immediately.”
“How many in your entire troop?” asked Amycus.
“Fifty-six.”
“Make it fifty-six, then,” said Amycus. “I’ll fight your entire company—and without weapons. Nor shall my greenish friends here do any flamethrowing. But you need not disarm.”
He motioned to the dragons, who slithered away until they were almost out of sight.
“Charge!” yelled the chief.
The islanders attacked. They swarmed over Amycus, striking with sword and battle-ax. He gathered up an armful of the troops, lifted the struggling mass to chin level, and then systematically began to butt. Shield and helmet were like tissue paper before that flailing brass head. Skulls split like eggs, spilling a yolk of brains. When Amycus opened his arms ten corpses fell. The sand soaked up their blood.
But the others did not flee. They were gripped in a battle rage. They kept hacking at him. He pretended to retreat, not fast, for he wished them to follow close. He reached a tree, sprang up and hooked his legs over a massive bough. Hanging upside down, he began to swing. Faster and faster he swung. Now his head was like a wrecking ball, crushing helmets, breastplates, skulls, ribs.
By the time he stopped swinging, half the original troop lay dead, and the other realized how futile it was to contend against this giant. They let their weapons fall, and knelt on the beach.
“You are brave men,” bellowed Amycus. “And I spare your lives. Go now and inform the people of the island that they have a new master. And bid them report to me so that I may assign them their tasks.”
The men dragged themselves to their feet and shuffled away, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again, and almost envying their comrades who had died too swiftly to feel the bitterness of defeat.
7
The Spartan Twins
Some time before this story begins, Peleus the Proud had seized power in Iolcus by murdering the king. He would have killed the king’s three-year-old son also, but the child had vanished on that night of blood and was not found despite a frantic search.
Now Peleus proved to be a very successful battle chief. He sent his troops against his neighbors, scattering their armies, looting their treasuries, and enslaving them. But his paunch grew with his power. He fed gluttonously, insisting on sixteen meals a day without counting snacks, and had grown grossly fat. Seven chins he had, all of them greasy, and his cheeks ballooned so that you could hardly see his tiny pig eyes.
These eyes now were fastened on a pair of twins who stood before the throne. And the king was scowling because he didn’t like what he saw. Having grown so gross and ugly himself, he hated the sight of handsome men, and these twins were the most beautiful youths he had ever seen. Very young they looked, scarcely nineteen, but the tallest of the Royal Guard barely reached their shoulders, and these guards had been picked for size—and ugliness. The twins were yellow haired; they blazed with health and strength, and stood easily, not at all troubled by the king’s scowls.
Studying them, Peleus saw that they were not quite identical. One was blue eyed; the other had icy gray eyes.
“Who are you?” rasped Peleus. “And what do you want?”
“I’m Castor,” said the blue-eyed one. “He’s Pollux. We are princes of Sparta.”
“And what we want is employment,” said the gray-eyed one. “Heralds have been scuttling
about, proclaiming that you wish to hire the best fighting men in the lands of the Middle Sea.”
“Men,” snarled Peleus. “Not pretty puppets who look more like dancing girls than warriors.”
The twins smiled an identical smile. “These heavily armed men who patrol this throne room—they are the Royal Guard, are they not?” asked Castor softly.
“They are,” said the king.
“Picked for their fighting abilities, no doubt?”
“No doubt.”
“Observe,” said Castor.
He whirled, seized two guards, one in each hand, and lifted them by the nape of their neck. They struggled, struck at him, tried to kick themselves free, but were helpless as kittens in his hands. Smiling at the king, he knocked their helmeted heads together and flung them, clattering, on the marble floor, where they lay motionless.
“They’re not dead,” said Castor. “Just out of it for a bit. I was quite gentle. My specialty is wrestling, by the way; my brother’s the boxer.”
Moving so fast that he was a blur, Pollux wrenched a shield from the hands of another guard, held it in his left hand, drew back his right fist, and punched a hole clean through the heavy bronze buckler. He cast the shield aside and licked his knuckles, which were bleeding slightly. And the twins stood again impassively before the throne, as if nothing had happened.
But the king, for all his girth, had no softness about him. He was not easily flustered.
“Yes, you seem to be able to handle yourselves,” he drawled. “Of course, if I employ you, you’ll be going against more fearsome foes than these. What’s your fee?”
“Depends on what you want us to do,” said Castor.
Peleus had been thinking very swiftly all this while. “These baby-faced thugs can prove dangerous as well as useful,” he said to himself. “They’re just too good at what they do. And much too independent. If they stay together and decide to join up with one of my enemies, they would pose more of a threat than I want to face. What I must do is separate them—use them as far as I can, then make sure they don’t get together again.”
Aloud he said, “You’re used to working as a team, I suppose?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Castor. “We fight as a unit.”
“But I have separate tasks,” said Peleus. “Both urgent, but one more difficult than the other. Working singly, you will earn double fees, and be able to rejoin each other in a few days.”
“Tell us more,” said Pollux.
“To the northwest,” said the king, “lies the island of Bebrycos. It is ruled by a monster named Amycus, a giant who butts people to death. No one has survived a visit to that place. Everyone who lands there has to fight Amycus or is cut down on the spot. It is said that the dented skulls of those who fought him form a tower higher than his castle. For years now I have been offering a rich reward to anyone who could vanquish Amycus. Many have tried, but no one has claimed the reward.”
“What is the other task?” asked Castor.
“Tricky … difficult … but much less dangerous. On a small round island, about twenty miles to the east, dwells an evil young magician.”
“What makes him so magical?” asked Pollux.
“He holds unholy sway over the birds and beasts of that place,” said Peleus. “Wolves and bears attend him. Snakes dance to his fluting. All foul wizardry, of course, and should be stamped out. Besides, he pretends to be my cousin, the son of the late king, and actually dares to claim my throne.”
“How is it you haven’t been able to kill him long before this?” asked Castor.
“I can’t send ships against him. That island is surrounded by a hidden reef that tears the bottom out of any vessel. But a strong swimmer can cross over unharmed. I’d like one of you to go there, strangle the tricky little rat, whose name is Jason, by the way, and return with some proof of his death. His head, perhaps, but any reasonable proof will do. That is the second task. It should take only a day or so, then he who has done it will be able to join his brother on Bebrycos.”
The twins looked at each other, nodded simultaneously to the king, and walked out of the throne room. As they left the castle, Castor said:
“It’s my turn for the dangerous task.”
“How do you figure?”
“You’re the one who took on the shark.”
“Only because you were busy tying knots in the octopus,” said Pollux. “But we won’t quarrel. You can go to Bebrycos first. I’m curious to see what that young animal tamer looks like.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Castor. “I’m uneasy about things. I don’t trust Peleus.”
“I’d be worried about you if you did,” said Pollux. “He’s a putrid lump of lard, every ounce of him. But I don’t think he’ll move against us as long as he believes we’re doing things for him. And he pays very well.”
“I’m still uneasy,” said Castor. “Let’s do the stump-water thing.”
This was a homely magic shared by the twins since they were small boys. What they did was go into the woods and find a tree stump in which rainwater had collected. They stood on opposite sides of the stump, inhaling its special smell of water and decayed wood and steeping leaves, all the while gazing into the puddle. They would go into a light trance and see pictures in the water. When they came out of the trance they would tell each other what they had seen. More often than not they had seen exactly the same things. If so, they believed, the matched images were telling what would happen to them in the near future. But these visions were not always reliable. Sometimes the pictures came true, other times not, and often led the twins into dangerous error. But they had happy natures. They remembered only what had come true and forgot what hadn’t. And, when in doubt about anything, still consulted the stump water.
Now, they went into the woods and found a stump. They stood on opposite sides of it and leaned over, taking deep breaths. It was bright afternoon but the stump was enveloped in its own time—neither day nor night, but a kind of livid twilight. A cheesy moon hung low, and the face in the moon was the face of Peleus, leering at them.
A ship, tiny as a twig, perfectly made, graceful as a gull, scudded across the puddle, sails full. On the deck were minute figures whom the twins recognized as themselves. In the bow stood a black-haired, slender lad, very young, but obviously in command.
A fog blew over the stump, almost hiding the ship. As the twins watched, the thick mist wreathed into pictures. Giants, slavering ogres, witches with tangled hair and bloody claws. And, in a place they had never been, an altar covered by a strangely colored fleece, purple and gold, the colors shifting and mixing as in a dawn sky … then, sliding into the scene, an enormous serpent, jaws agape.
The fog blew away, taking the ship with it, and dissolving their trance. The twins found themselves staring into an ordinary stump that held a puddle of rainwater. They looked at each other.
“What did you see?” asked Castor.
Pollux told him about the ship, its crew, the wreathing shapes, and the moon face of Peleus leering over all. “That’s what I saw,” said Pollux. “What about you?”
“Exactly the same, every detail.”
“Well, the old stump-water magic is still working,” said Pollux. “How do you read it?”
“We’re destined to take a voyage, obviously. Meet giants, ogres, witches, serpents, and all the things that moved in the fog.”
“Yes,” said Pollux. “How about that skipper, did you recognize him?”
“No. And he looked mighty young and puny to be leading us. One thing I know is true; I thought so before, but now I’m sure. We can’t trust Peleus. Want he wants is for us to do some dirty work for him and get ourselves killed doing it. And I think it’s Amycus who’s supposed to do the killing.”
“So I’ll finish off my job as soon as possible, and join you on Bebrycos.”
“Well, I hope I won’t need too much help,” said Castor. “But if I do, I’ll wait for you.”
The twins embraced
briefly, and parted.
8
Jason, the Healer
As the king had said, some miles off the coast of Iolcus lay the little round island where Jason dwelt. He was the only person there, but didn’t realize how lonesome he was because he had many animal friends.
Nevertheless, he sometimes felt that he would like to meet someone more like himself, and would spend hours standing on the beach gazing at the dim bulk of the mainland. He was especially excited when he saw a ship sailing toward him. Sometimes one would come close enough for him to see tiny figures moving on the deck, but always a ship would come only so near, then sheer off abruptly—and the lad would wonder why. He had no way of knowing that Poseidon had girded the island with a hidden reef.
But for some time now he had been too busy to watch for ships. He was trying to solve an important problem. For among the many snakes on this island was one that was particularly vicious—a small green viper, unbelievably swift, whose bite sent animals into foaming fits. The poison didn’t actually kill them, but, maddened by pain, they would often shatter their skull against rocks or trees, or claw themselves to pieces. Now, Jason had taught himself to cure ordinary snakebites, even ones that were quite deadly, but he wasn’t able to approach an animal bitten by the viper, for, in its madness, it would have killed him. He had to stand by and watch it destroy itself. He knew that if he could only quiet these viper-bitten animals, somehow, he would be able to draw out the venom, but he didn’t know how to quiet them. And he kept thinking about how to do it.
He had been studying the flight of bees because he liked to eat honeycombs. Bees astounded him. They flew so fast, so hard—like flung stones—but they could also hover, float, change direction; they seemed the most active of all creatures. But he noticed that after visiting a certain flower bed, the bees would slow up considerably, wobble in flight, seem almost to drowse as they flew.
He examined these flowers. They were unfamiliar. He thought that he knew every kind of flower that grew on the island, but these seemed to have sprouted overnight. Black and purple blossoms, except for a single flame-colored petal. He tore off a leaf and ate it. And immediately felt himself sinking into sleep.
Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One Page 4