Dreams thronged. He saw a young god, Morpheus, standing in the dark chamber of his father, Hypnos, God of Sleep. “I am weary, my son,” said Hypnos. “You must help me tonight. You must fly about the world distributing my gift.”
“Very well,” said Morpheus, “but I wish to mix my own colors of sleep. Yours are too dark and thick and sad.”
“So it has been and so it must be,” said Hypnos. “For it is a little trial death we put upon man each night to prepare him for the long final death.”
Morpheus, dissatisfied, went to his cousin, Persephone, the flower princess, and said: “Help me, sweet maiden, you who go with your paint box among the flowers each spring. I do not wish to scatter little deaths but hours of repose. I need something to brighten sleep.”
“Yes,” said Persephone. “Sleep can be brightened by something called dreams. Humankind is ready for them now. Take this.”
She moved her slender hand through the air. In her fingers a flower blossomed. She gave it to Morpheus. “See, Cousin, black and purple like sleep with one fire-red petal for dreams. We shall call it the lotus. Plant it first in Libya where it is always summer; it will do well there. But save a cutting for a certain small island in the Middle Sea, where someone will someday use it in a very timely way.”
When Jason awoke, he knew what to do. He gathered an armful of blossoms, which grew thicker than ever, and took them to his hut. He chopped up the petals, mixed them with pure springwater, and boiled the brew until it was thick and gummy. Then dipped his arrowheads in it.
He took bow and arrows and prowled the woods until he heard a bugling, a clattering. He followed the sound into a clearing where two stags were fighting. Horns locked, heaving; they were writhing shapes of brute strength. He notched an arrow, drew his bow, and loosed the shaft, aiming so that he would just nick the haunch of one stag. The arrow sang through the air, flying true. The stag immediately collapsed. The other one stood over him, eyes rolling in astonishment. Jason ran to the fallen stag, which was breathing evenly, unhurt, but fast asleep.
Jason whooped with joy. In his exultance, he leaped upon the other stag and rode it out of the woods onto the beach. He galloped along the beach, shouting with joy. A black goat and blue fox raced after him. He saw something white coasting in on a wave. It landed on the beach and sat there in his path. He stopped the stag in mid-stride and looked down at a snow-white seal. The whiskered face gazing up at him looked so clever that he almost expected to hear words coming from its mouth. Nevertheless, he was astonished when the seal did speak.
“Do you know who you are?” asked the seal.
“I’m me,” said Jason.
“Is that all you know about yourself?”
“What else is there to know?”
“Much … much … Do you remember how you came here?”
“I’ve tried to forget.”
“Can you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then I will,” said the seal. “You were asleep in your nursery. Dreadful sounds awoke you. Men shouting, women screaming. Torches flared. You remember your nurse’s hand snatching you out of bed and wrapping you in a cloak. She is running with you; you hear her feet on the marble floor. Outside now, cold air, gull cries, sea smells, the hiss of the surf. You are in the small boat in your nurse’s lap. You hear oars dipping. You are rocked to sleep. You awake upon this island. Then day follows day in a bright blur. You are a little boy living alone except for animals. A she-goat and a blue fox. You drink milk from the goat; the fox brings you nuts and berries and honeycombs, until you learn to gather them for yourself and to take fish from the sea.”
“You seem to know all about me,” said Jason.
“Yes. I have watched over you since that dreadful night.”
“Who are you?”
“I am he who serves his master. My name is Proteus.”
“Who’s your master?”
“Poseidon, God of the Sea.”
“Is it he who bids you watch over me?”
“It is he.”
“What is his interest in me?”
“You shall know presently. First, let me unravel that terrible scene. The shouts were your father, the king, being murdered by his cousin, Peleus, who wished to be king himself. After killing your father he was coming to kill you, the heir to the throne. But your nurse, a remarkable woman, fled the castle with you in her arms, found a boatman and hired his boat. My master then, who had been observing all this, spoke from the sea, guiding her to this island and bidding her leave you here. She knew it was a god speaking and obeyed, although it broke her heart to abandon you. Then I was ordered to arrange for your care. I instructed the goat and the fox, and in various forms have visited this island from time to time to see how you fared.”
“And why do you reveal yourself to me now?” asked Jason. “What has changed?”
“You have. You have grown. Growth is slow change. You are old enough now.”
“Old enough for what?”
“To know,” said the seal. “Then to do.”
“Do what?”
“Act upon your knowledge. I have informed you that you are the rightful king.”
“King of what?”
“That fair land called Iolcus, which you can dimly see from this shore.”
“Have you come to tell me that I must claim my kingdom?”
“Hearken now. Your cousin Peleus, your enemy, is a famed battle chief. His army has swept over frontiers, subduing neighbors and adding their lands to his. His war fleet raids island kingdoms. Before you can even think of confronting him, you must learn to fight, learn to lead.”
“How do I begin?”
“You have begun.”
“What is my first task?”
“To survive another day.”
“I seem to have lasted this long. Why is one more day so important?”
“Because someone is coming to kill you. The king knows where you are and has sent an assassin—who is to wring your neck like a chicken, then twist your head off and bring it to Peleus to prove that you are dead.”
“What’s he like, this assassin?”
“Extremely beautiful, and even more deadly. One of a pair of twins, Spartan princes, so tall and strong and handsome it is as if whoever made the eldest took one look and immediately decided that there had to be another of his kind.”
“Are they both coming after me?”
“Just one. That’s all I can tell you. Take care.”
The seal slid into the sea and vanished.
9
The Assassin
Bears do not howl. They rumble, they snarl, they chuckle; when in pain they utter a kind of sobbing roar. And it was this agonized roaring that awakened Jason just before dawn. He snatched up bow and arrows and rushed toward the sound. He knew it must be a bear, bitten by a viper, and clawing itself in a foaming fit. He sped through the wood into a clearing, and saw not one bear but two, a brown one and a black one, both huge, both maddened by pain and foaming at the mouth, and trying to tear each other to pieces before turning on themselves.
They were a whirling, furry mass. Jason notched an arrow, but hesitated. He was afraid that if he put one to sleep, the other would kill it before he could shoot a second arrow. He hesitated too long; the black bear flung the brown one halfway across the clearing. It landed next to Jason and swung its paw, knocking the bow from his hands.
He sprawled on the ground, groping for his bow. But the beast was upon him. Hot, meaty breath gusted against his face, choking him. He felt claws of fire raking his shoulder, then a coolness of blood. He knew he was about to feel a final crunching pain as the bear crushed his head between its jaws.
Swooning, he was dazzled by gold. Weight was lifted from him. “I’m dead,” he thought. “This is the inlaid floor of heaven. Why was I not taken to Tartarus? Or is hell paved with gold also?”
When his vision cleared he saw a tall, yellow-haired youth fighting the brown bear. The b
east stood erect, clawing at the youth—who was punching so fast that his fists were one streak of motion. Jason heard the bear’s rib cage crack. The animal fell, spitting blood, then lay still. But the victorious youth was suddenly encircled by two enormous furry arms as the black bear attacked from behind, taking him into a hug that was certain death.
Jason had scooped up his bow. He notched an arrow now, and knowing how difficult it was for him to hit the bear without grazing the youth, thought a swift prayer. “Poseidon, guide my arrow!” And let fly. The shaft whizzed past the youth’s head, passing so close that its feathers brushed the yellow hair before burying itself in the bear’s shoulder. The furry arms loosened; the bear fell.
Instantaneously, the youth whirled, drawing a knife, and kneeling. Jason, astounded, saw that the stranger, absolutely unruffled by killing one beast and almost being killed by the other, was preparing to skin the black bear.
“Don’t!” shouted Jason.
The youth swiveled his head. Jason saw that his eyes were not blue but gray, glinting now like frost. “Don’t what?” he said. “I want its hide.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It isn’t dead. It’s asleep.”
“Looks dead.”
“It’s not. My arrows are dipped in sleep.”
“Well, I know mine is dead. I hit it square. So I’ll just cut this one’s throat and skin ’em both. Make a couple of bearskin cloaks for my brother and me. It gets cold in Sparta.”
“Are you Spartan?”
“I am. Pollux is my name.”
“Are you a prince by any chance?”
Pollux nodded.
“A twin?”
“All three.”
“Then you’ve come to kill me, haven’t you?”
“Are you Jason?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever I’ve come to do, I can’t. You saved my life.”
“You saved mine first.”
“Well, we saved each other. Killing you is out of the question, worse luck. I was promised a fat fee.” Jason saw the prince cocking his golden head and staring down at him, studying his face intently.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Do something for me. Wash the dirt and blood off.”
Jason went to a stream, dipped his head in, and swabbed his face with a handful of dry grass. He came back to the Spartan.
“Yes …” said Pollux. “It grows more and more curious.”
“What does?”
“You’re the lad we saw in the stump water, my twin and I. We are to go voyaging with you. We shared a vision at the stump and saw you captaining a ship that was sailing toward strange encounters.”
“I don’t know what all that means, but it sounds marvelous.”
“Are you saying you don’t know anything about an expedition you’re supposed to lead? How can that be?”
“I was told that if I survived your visit I would be seeking adventure to train me for kingship.”
“Who told you?”
“A seal.”
“Do you usually hold conversations with seals?”
“This one serves Poseidon. Why do you look so doubtful? Talking seals are as believable as stump-water visions.”
“Well, I can tell you what your first adventure will be. We’re going to Bebrycos, you and I, to help my brother fight a brass-headed giant.”
“Oh joy! I haven’t done much fighting, but I’m a pretty good archer.”
“We’ll teach you whatever you need to know,” said Pollux. “You’re our little brother now.” He drew Jason to him and pressed his bleeding knuckles to the boy’s clawed shoulder. “Our blood has mingled,” he said. “We’re brothers. Which means you’re Castor’s brother, too.”
“I couldn’t ask for anything better.”
“Gather your sleepy arrows, Little Brother. Fill your quiver. We’re off to Bebrycos at the turning of the tide!”
10
The Scorching
When Castor landed on Bebrycos he spent a few days scouting the island before challenging its ruler. His only knowledge of the giant and of those he ruled was what Peleus had told him, and he decided to see for himself what the situation was.
He pretended to be an old crippled man, a beggar. Donning a ragged black cloak, he stooped to half his height, hid his face in the cowl, and went limping about the island, occasionally thrusting a bowl at people, begging for food in a high quavering voice.
He learned that Amycus ruled by terror, that even his courtiers were not safe because he would be taken by gusts of rage, seize the nearest person, and pound him to a pulp. Only the Royal Guard, who were the twenty wingless dragons, was safe from his furies. He would kill anyone who displeased him. Some offenders were chained to a rock at a low tide and would spend hours waiting for the rising tide to cover them. But since sharks prowled very close to shore, only the lucky ones drowned.
A prime offender, anyone who dared look too long at any girl Amycus was interested in, was given to the guard for special treatment. The dragons would take the man to the beach, shackle him to a massive iron ring sunk into an enormous charred boulder, and stand in a circle blowing flame at him, one dragon at a time—roasting him inch by inch until his screams were heard in the castle, making Amycus smile. Some victims tried to shorten their agony by beating their head against the rock, but only a few had wit enough to do that.
These torture sessions drew big crowds, and the old beggar sidled among them, unnoticed, observing everything. He felt an idea forming. He tried to fend it off, because it was unspeakably perilous, but the idea kept coming back, and he knew he would have to think it through.
Upon this day, the spectators were disappointed. The man being burned was inconsiderate enough to die quickly. The crowd drifted away. The old beggar stayed on the beach watching the gulls. Attracted by the smell of burned flesh, they were diving, screeching, waiting for the body to cool so that they could feast. In the meantime, they ate the big black crabs that had also come to dine. It was an unpleasant sight, but Castor had come to do something, and had to stay until it was done.
He waited until the bones were stripped clean and the gulls had departed. He went to the rock, took hold of the iron ring, braced his legs, and began to pull. The rock seemed as though it were rooted to the center of the earth; he could not budge it. He exerted all his strength—which, he realized now, he had never really used to its fullest. “Things have been too easy for me,” he said to himself. “Nothing I’ve ever wrestled, man or beast, has lasted two minutes against me. Now, let’s see what I’m really made of.” He pulled with all his might, and more than his might. Every particle of him fused into a wild surge of energy.
He thought he felt the rock move. “Father Zeus, help me,” he muttered. The gigantic rock seemed to loosen in its socket of earth. He grunted and let go. “If I can do this much now,” he thought, “a few licks of fire should really inspire me.”
He wandered off then. He felt dizzy from the strain, but had done enough to know that he could do more. He left that place, for the smell of burned flesh still hung heavy, and walked a mile or so along the shore, thinking hard.
“It’s definite then,” he said to himself. “I’ve got to do it and try to get it done before Pollux comes … which means he’ll be the one to challenge Amycus. Because even if I succeed against the dragons—which is a very big if indeed—I’ll probably be too scorched to fight the giant. I wish we could trade jobs, Pollux and I, but he doesn’t have the temperament to handle the dragons. When faced by an enemy he lowers his head and charges. He hates tactics and trickery; he trusts only his fists. But these damned lizards must be taken care of or neither of us will get out of here alive, no matter what happens to Amycus. As for those slithering flamethrowers, there’s only one thing to do, and only me to do it.”
He had come now to where he had hidden his own clothes. He stripped himself of the stinking beggar rags and plunged into the sea, and s
wam until he felt clean again. Then he donned his tunic and went to find the girl he had seen with Amycus.
He went to the castle grounds and lurked in the orchard, watching the great portal until he saw the girl come out. He waited again until he saw three dragons emerge from the castle, one of them carrying a big net. This was the girl’s escort, he knew, assigned by Amycus to follow her and discourage any other suitors. They followed very slowly.
Castor hurried after her with long strides. He wanted some time alone with her before the dragons arrived. He followed her up a hill. Looking back, he saw that the dragons were far behind. He guessed that they were giving her plenty of space, hoping that she was really going to meet someone. Then they could catch him, and begin the scorching. They enjoyed their work.
When he reached her she was sitting on a rock, sobbing.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She choked back her sobs and looked at him. Her wet face was very beautiful.
“Why are you crying?”
“It’s that beast, the king, my brother-in-law. He’s tired of my sister and wants to marry me.”
“I take it that doesn’t appeal to you?”
“Oh no, sir. I hate, loathe and despise him.”
“How about your sister?”
“She has nothing to say about it. When he gets tired of a wife he throws her away and gets a new one. My sister’s his eighth.”
“And you’ll be the ninth?”
“And my little sister will probably be the tenth. He’ll be ready to throw me away when she’s big enough. But I won’t be the ninth, I won’t marry him, I won’t! I came here to jump off this hill.”
“Don’t do that,” said Castor. “You’re too beautiful. It would be too much of a waste. There must be many young men who love you.”
“There was one I loved, but he’s gone. The king’s lizards caught him in a net and did dreadful things to him. You’d better go away, sir, or they’ll catch you, too. They follow me everywhere.”
Castor saw her eyes widen in terror, and knew that she saw dragons coming up behind him. He stepped closer, whispering, “May I kiss you?” And felt the net fall over him.
Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One Page 5